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tsfie  STORY  or 

ANTONIO 


THE  GALLEYSLAVE 


ARRIGHI 


^lyiA(hyvtip   ^v^yp^   ^^^^^5^i^^ 


THE   STORY    OF   ANTONIO 

THE   GALLEY-SLAVE 


^^^^^^^^  ^i^wi^i^  0A^j^ 


he  Str  :,  of  Antonio 

cne  Galley- Slave 

A  'Romance  of  Real  Life 

In  Three  Parts 
BY 

ANTONIO   ANDREA  ARRIGHI 


New  York  Chicago        Toronto 

Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 

London  and  Edinburgh 


Copyright,  191 1,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  123  N.  Wabash  Ave. 
Toronto :  25  Richmond  St.,  \V. 
London  :  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh :  100  Princes  Street 


SRLF 

mi 


TO 
MRS.   HELEN   L.  PHELPS   STOKES, 

AS  A  TOKEN  OF  MY  HIGH  ESTEEM 

AND  APPRECIATION  OF  HER  KINDNESS, 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED. 


My  profound  gratitude  to  my  dear  friend,  the 
Rev.  John  Harrington  Edwards,  D.D.,  for  his 
valuable  help  in  the  publication  of  this  volume. 

THE   AUTHOR 


FOREWORD 

This  book  has  the  appearance  of  a  novel,  yet  is 
no  fiction  but  a  romance  of  real  life.  The  events 
narrated  in  a  somewhat  dramatical  manner  were 
actual  experiences  of  the  narrator.  It  is  perhaps 
the  only  book  extant  which  gives  autobiographically 
a  correct  idea  of  the  life  of  a  galley  slave,  with  its 
untold  sufferings  and  horrors.  As  here  described 
they  are  not  drawn  from  imagination,  but  are  vivid 
recollections  of  almost  infernal  realities. 

The  whole  story  forms  a  chain  of  extraordinary 
happenings.  It  is  the  veritable  record  of  the  life 
of  a  valiant  young  soldier  who  served  as  a  drummer 
boy  in  Garibaldi's  heroic  struggle  for  Italian  liberty 
in  1849,  ^^^  who,  after  many  sufferings  and  re- 
markable deliverances,  escaped  to  free  America. 
Here  he  found  friends,  a  Saviour,  and  his  life  work. 
Returning  to  Italy,  he  preached  the  gospel  of  peace 
for  nine  years  in  Florence,  and  since  then  for  thirty 
years  he  has  been  a  very  successful  pastor  among 
his  countrymen  in  New  York. 

Tens  of  thousands  in  the  United  States  and  Can- 
ada have  heard  from  his  lips  the  thrilling  story  of 
his  earlier  experiences,  his  Italian  songs  of  patriot- 
ism, and  his  lectures  on  life  in  Italy.  Now  in  later 
years  he  gives  to  the  world  a  biographical  account 

5 


6  FOREWORD 

of  the  leadings  of  Providence  throughout  his 
career,  in  the  sincere  hope  that  others  may  be  led 
to  trust  in  the  same  overruling  care  and  saving 
grace  of  his  Divine  Friend  and  Master.  Written 
in  a  language  not  his  vernacular,  this  true  story  is 
narrated  in  an  ingenuous  and  spirited  style  which 
will  interest  readers  of  all  ages,  and  ensure  a  wide 
welcome.  Personal  knowledge  of  Antonio  and  his 
work  in  both  countries  makes  it  a  privilege  to  say 
this  introductory  word. 

J.  H.  E. 


CONTENTS 

PART    I 

A  Drummer  Boy  with  Garibaldi,  at  the 
Siege  of  JRome,  184^ 

FACE 

I.  The  Notaro's  Home 11 

II.  The  Little  Drummer 22 

III.  The  Liberty  Pole 30 

IV.  The  Siege  of  Rome 41 

V.  The  Drummer's  Mother    ....  60 

PART   II 

The  Galley-Slave  of  Civita  Vecchia 

VI.    **Va  in  Galera!" 79 

VII.  The  Slave's  Work 97 

VIII.  Olina no 

IX.  The  Escape 125 

X.  In  the  Maremme 144 

PART   III 

A  Herald  of  the  Cross  in  America  and  Italy 


XI. 

The  Land  of  the  Free 

.       179 

XIL 

The  Greater  Liberty 

194 

XIII. 

The  Student    

211 

XIV. 

Home  Again 

228 

XV. 

The  Church  in  Florence 
7 

.       254 

PART   I 

o 

A  Drummer  'Boy  with  Garibaldi,  at  the 
Siege  of  Rome,  1849 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTONIO, 
THE   GALLEY-SLAVE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   NOTARO'S   HOME 

**  r  t  ^ONIO!    Stop  your  infernal  drumming! — 
m        Do  yon  hear?  " 

The  above  words,  so  crisp  and  so  full 
of  gentle  heat,  were  spoken  by  my  father  while  at 
his  desk  writing  a  letter  for  a  lovely  peasant  girl, 
and  it  was  a — well,  guess !  Although  I  was  only  six 
years  old  when  the  words  were  uttered,  they  still 
ring  in  my  ears.  How  true  it  is  that  paternal  utter- 
ances are  never  forgotten,  when  uttered  in  the  above 
manner.  My  father,  the  notaro,  would  often  say 
that  "  I  was  born  a  drummer,"  for  my  boyhood 
ruling  passion  was  drum-playing. 

To  gather  some  conceptions  of  that  boyhood,  we 
must  go  to  Italy,  and  to  beautiful  Florence,  the 
"  city  of  flowers  "  and  of  art.  It  is  autumn  of  the 
year  1842,  when  everything  in  nature  is  charming. 
We  are  in  the  Piazza  della  Signoria,  a  public  square 
gtored  with  memories  of  great  historic  events.    We 


12        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

pass  to  the  south  of  the  famous  fountain  of  Nep- 
tune, with  its  colossal  statue  of  the  King  of  the 
Seas,  which  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  large  basin 
surrounded  by  life-sized  fiery,  swimming  horses. 
This  is  sacred  ground,  for  here  the  great  reformer, 
Savonarola,  was  burned  at  the  stake.  As  we  look 
to  the  north,  above  us,  like  a  grim  sentinel,  rises 
the  tower-shaped  Palazzo  Vecchio.  To  the  east  we 
see  the  matchless  Loggia  dei  Lanzi,  with  its  rare 
collection  of  statuary. 

We  nov^r  go  through  the  portal  of  the  municipal 
palace  and  are  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Arno, 
whose  classic  waters  are  never  clear.  A  short  walk 
to  the  south  brings  us  to  the  quaint  old  Ponte  Vec- 
chio, with  its  array  of  attractive  jewelry  stores  on 
each  side  of  the  arches  of  the  historic  bridge. 

Having  crossed  the  river,  we  turn  to  the  left  and 
follow  the  Via  San  Nicola  till  we  come  to  house 
Number  3.  At  the  entrance  we  see  a  large  hanging 
sign,  with  but  one  word  inscribed  on  it  in  golden 
letters,  "  Notaro." 

The  door  of  Number  3  is  always  open,  and,  en- 
tering, we  walk  along  its  broad  hall  till  we  reach 
a  door  which  has  the  inscription  "  //  Notaro,  en- 
trate."  Encouraged  by  this  invitation,  we  open  the 
door,  and  here  is  what  we  see : 

The  room  is  large,  but  poorly  furnished.  A  few 
pictures  of  no  merit  hang  on  the  wall.  Two  large 
windows  overlook  Via  San  Nicola  and  give  plenty 
of  light.     Near  one  of  them  we  see  a  table  with  a 


THE  NOTARO'S  HOME  13 

few  books  scattered  on  it,  and  supplied  with  a  large 
quantity  of  writing  material. 

Seated  at  the  table  is  a  man  about  forty  years 
of  age.  Black  hair  and  eyes  and  a  great  moustache 
give  him  the  appearance  of  a  man  of  unusual 
strength  of  character;  and  a  second  glance  shows 
him  handsome  and  jovial.  He  holds  in  his  hand  a 
large  quill  pen,  with  which  he  is  writing  rapidly. 
Seated  at  the  same  table  close  to  the  notaro  is  a 
lovely  peasant  girl,  nineteen  years  of  age,  wearing 
a  bright  dress  of  many  colours  in  the  fashion  of  the 
day  and  country.  Her  beautiful  eyes  are  watching 
the  quill  in  the  hand  of  the  notaro,  and  she  seems 
to  infuse  into  every  word  she  dictates  all  the  affec- 
tion of  her  heart.  When  she  mentions  the 
name  "  Peppe  "  her  eyes  fairly  dance  with  joy.  It 
needs  no  penetration  to  see  that  the  notaro  is  writ- 
ing a  letter  for  the  maiden. 

So  we  watch  the  beautiful  girl,  as  she  whispers 
sweet  words  into  the  ear  of  the  writer,  and  see 
how,  now  and  then,  her  face  becomes  aglow,  as  if 
a  flame  from  her  heart  has  set  on  fire  all  the  blood 
in  her  veins.  Then  there  is  a  change;  sadness 
causes  a  sigh  to  break  forth.  As  she  thinks  of  her 
promesso  sposo  far  away  in  distant  America 
seeking  his  fortune,  there  comes  an  expression  of 
such  longing  for  him,  that  it  is  clear  she  would 
fly  to  her  beloved  on  the  wings  of  the  morning  if 
only  she  could.  At  the  thought  of  the  great  dis- 
tance  between   her   and    her   lover,    a   tear   flows 


14        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

down  her  cheek  and  drops  on  the  hand  of  the 
notaro,  who  stops  writing  and  looks  up,  saying, 
"  Nita,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"Oh!  Signor  Notaro,"  rephes  the  girl,  "I  was 
thinking  of  the  great  distance,  and  of  that  cruel 
ocean  which  separates  me  from  my  dearest  Peppe." 

"  Well,"  says  the  notaro,  "  do  you  want  me  to 
write  that  the  ocean  has  separated  your  love  from 
him?" 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  cries  the  young  lady,  "  but 
rather  tell  him  that  my  love  is  as  deep  as  the  ocean, 
and  that  I  am  dying  to  see  him." 

Before  the  notaro  takes  up  his  quill  to  write 
again,  he  looks  towards  a  closed  door  at  one  side 
of  the  room,  and,  standing  before  this  door,  we 
see  a  little  boy.  The  lad  has  on  a  suit  of  frustagno, 
a  very  common  article  of  wear  in  Italy.  His 
head  is  covered  with  jet-black  hair,  falling  in 
ringlets  over  his  shoulders.  You  will  observe 
that  this  boy  is  using  the  door  in  lieu  of  a  drum, 
beating  it  strenuously  with  spoons  which  he 
holds  in  each  hand.  The  notaro  looks  at  him  with 
an  expression  of  annoyance,  and  gives  utterance 
to  the  exclamation  with  which  this  story  began, 
adding,  "  Tonio,  come  here  and  stand  by  the  table !  " 

The  lad  obeys  quickly,  and,  as  he  turns  round, 
we  see  a  childish  face  perfectly  Italian  in  all  its 
features.  His  black  hair  accentuates  the  lustre  in 
the  black  eyes.  He  has  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  which 
seems  to  emanate  from  a  soul   full  of  sunshine. 


THE  NOTARO'S  HOME  15 

Ready  to  obey  that  which  seems  to  him  right,  but 
quick  to  resent  anything  which  seems  wrong,  we 
see  in  him  the  quahties  that  make  a  courageous 
lad. 

At  his  father's  command,  he  comes  quickly  to  his 
side,  and  for  a  few  moments  is  quiet.  His  father 
makes  use  of  the  opportunity  to  send  his  pen 
scratching  vigorously  over  the  paper.  The  boy, 
however,  longs  to  be  drumming,  and  for  lack  of 
something  better,  his  imagination  seizes  the  noise 
made  by  the  scratching  of  his  father's  quill  as  a 
substitute.  But,  judging  by  the  look  of  growing 
disgust  on  his  face,  it  is  very  unsatisfactory.  He 
becomes  restless  and  finally  breaks  out  in  a  loud 
voice : 

"  Papa !  let  me  teach  you  how  to  play  the  drum." 

Then  he  strikes  the  table  with  great  force  with 
his  fists,  causing  a  blot  of  ink  to  drop  upon  the 
letter  his  father  is  writing,  almost  ruining  the  page. 

The  notaro  throws  down  his  pen  and  makes  the 
child  know  the  experience  of  being  taken  across 
an  angry  father's  knees.  The  tender-hearted  girl, 
moved  to  compassion  by  the  blows  descending  thick 
and  fast  upon  the  struggling  person  of  the  boy, 
cries  out,  "  Signor  Notaro,  have  mercy !  I  will 
pay  for  the  damage  done  by  the  bambino."  At 
her  pleading  the  notaro  puts  his  son  down  on  the 
brick  floor,  and  tells  him  to  sit  there  and  not  move. 
The  poor  boy,  with  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  obeys; 
but  the  lovely  peasant  girl  takes  him  on  her  lap. 


i6        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

smoothing  his  curly  hair  and  pressing  him  to  her 
bosom.  This  quiets  him  and  he  is  soothed  into  a 
refreshing  sleep. 

A  few  minutes  later  Tonio  awakes  and,  thinking 
his  father  still  angry  with  him,  slides  down  from 
the  young  lady's  lap  and  sits  on  the  floor.  The 
notaro,  however,  smiles  and  says,  "  Well,  my  boy, 
it  will  be  rather  hard  for  you  to  drum  on  the  brick 
floor.  Now  keep  quiet,  and  when  I  am  through  I 
will  give  you  a  soldo." 

In  those  days,  in  some  parts  of  Italy  the  people 
wore  shoes,  the  soles  of  which  were  made  of  hard 
wood,  and  only  the  uppers  of  leather.  The  clatter 
of  these  on  the  paved  streets  sounded  much  like  the 
galloping  of  an  army  of  horses.  Our  drummer 
boy  has  on  his  feet  wooden  shoes,  and  after  a  while 
his  restless  spirit  overpowers  the  determination  to 
remain  quiet,  for  his  desire  to  drum  is  stronger 
than  ever.  He  moves  his  feet  quickly  and  the 
slippers  striking  against  the  bricks  make  a  sound 
pleasing  to  his  ears.  In  a  second  off  come  the 
shoes  and  soon,  with  one  in  each  hand,  he  is  making 
the  room  resound  with  his  drumming. 

The  notaro  calls  out,  "  Tonio,  you  annoy  me  so 
that  I  cannot  write.  Stop  your  racket;  go  to  the 
window  and  look  at  the  people  as  they  pass  by." 

The  boy  runs  to  the  windov^^  and  begins  to  look 
at  the  passers-by,  but  soon  becomes  tired  of  this 
occupation.  Unconsciously  his  fingers  begin  drum- 
ming lightly  on  the  window  panes.     His  enthusi- 


THE  NOTARO'S  HOME  17 

asm  grows  until  he  makes  the  window  panes  rattle. 
People  in  the  street,  attracted  by  the  noise,  look  up 
and  smile  at  the  lad. 

The  notaro,  exasperated  beyond  control,  lays 
down  his  pen  and  starts  for  the  noisy  child,  but 
the  young  lady  prevents  a  second  punishment  by 
taking  him  away  from  the  window  and  holding  him 
in  her  arms  until  the  letter  is  completed. 

Then  the  notaro  asks,  "  Nita,  shall  I  read  you 
the  letter?" 

"  Please,  Signor  Notaro,"  replies  the  girl.  "  I 
should  like  to  hear  it  read,  not  only  once,  but  every 
moment  of  the  day." 

Tonio,  still  upon  the  girl's  lap,  watches  her  face 
during  the  reading  of  the  long  letter.  He  sees 
many  queer  changes  on  her  features  which  the  little 
fellow  cannot  understand.  He  does  not  know  why 
the  young  lady  gives  him  now  and  again  such  a 
tight  squeeze,  and  so  frequently  kisses  him.  The 
letter  finished,  the  notaro  asks,  "  How  do  you  like 
it,  Nita?" 

"  Oh !  it  is  grand,"  she  exclaims.  "  It  seems  to 
me  that  even  the  Holy  Madonna  could  not  write  a 
better  letter." 

At  this  remark  the  notaro  makes  a  graceful  bow 
and  his  face  lights  up. 

"  It  says,"  continues  the  girl,  "  just  what  I  feel 
in  my  heart.  I  thought  I  should  melt  into  sweetness 
while  I  was  listening  to  it." 

Just  then,  the  door  at  which  we  first  saw  the  boy. 


i8         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

opens,  ami  the  child's  mother  enters  the  room.  She 
is  about  thirty-five  years  of  age.  Snow-white 
hair  crowns  a  face  that  seems  to  overflow  with 
motherly  kindness,  and  when  she  looks  at  her  son 
we  can  plainly  see  that  she  loves  him  better 
than  life;  for  she  is  self-sacrificing  and  even  over- 
indulgent.  Her  voice  is  soft  and  tender,  a  voice 
once  heard  never  to  be  forgotten.  Tonio  rushes 
into  her  outstretched  arms,  saying,  "  Cara  Mamma, 
I  am  so  hungry;  please  give  me  an  egg  cooked  in 
the  ashes." 

"  Yes,  carino,  right  away,"  and  she  places  an  tgg 
in  the  midst  of  the  ashes  in  the  fireplace,  carefully 
covering  it  over.  It  is  soon  ready,  and  no  delicacy 
could  please  the  boy  more. 

At  the  time  of  the  above  incident  I  was  the  young- 
est of  five  children,  the  pet  of  the  family,  and  dearly 
beloved  by  my  kind  and  affectionate  mother.  The 
neighbours  often  warned  her  that  she  would  spoil 
me  with  her  indulgence.  She  would  reply  that  I 
was  the  idol  of  her  heart,  and,  even  though  I  was 
at  times  naughty,  she  had  not  the  heart  to  punish 
me.  My  mother  would  often  entertain  her  friends 
by  relating  some  of  the  mischievous  pranks  I  was 
ever  indulging  in.  Of  one  story  she  was  especially 
fond.  It  happened  one  day  that  we  had  Don 
Michele,  the  cappellano  of  our  church,  visit  us  and 
take  dinner  at  our  table.  After  dinner  all  retired 
to  the  parlour.    I  was  left  at  the  table  alone.    While 


THE  NOTARO'S  HOME  19 

there,  it  came  into  my  head  that  I  would  like  to 
drum,  but  there  was  nothing  I  could  drum  on.  My 
ingenuity,  however,  supplied  the  article  needed. 
Unfortunately  it  happened  to  be  a  beautiful  crystal 
bowl,  perfectly  round  and  rather  thin.  It  was  the 
bowl  from  which  my  father  the  notaro  drank  his 
"  vin  di  Chianti."  I  drew  the  bowl  up,  struck  it 
lightly  with  my  fingers,  and  was  overjoyed  with 
the  clear  ringing  tone  it  gave  out.  Then  for  drum- 
sticks I  took  a  knife  in  each  hand.  My  heart  was 
thrilled  with  the  fine  music  I  made.  Soon  I  forgot 
myself  and  drummed  so  furiously  that  there  was  a 
crash,  with  the  sound  of  broken  glass  flying  all  over 
the  table. 

At  the  noise  my  father  and  mother  rushed  into 
the  dining-room  and  saw  what  I  had  done.  My 
father  cried  out  in  angry  tones,  "  Tonio  has  broken 
my  beautiful  and  costly  drinking  bowl,"  and  made 
a  move  to  lay  his  hands  upon  me.  But  instantly 
my  mother  had  me  in  her  arms,  and  started  for  the 
parlour,  where  sat  the  cappellano.  The  cappellano 
asked  what  was  the  trouble,  and  my  father,  still 
very  angry,  replied,  "  That  bad  boy  has  broken  into 
a  thousand  fragments  my  glass  drinking  bowl.  I 
did  so  enjoy  drinking  Chianti  from  it." 

Poor  man,  he  felt  really  sad  and  when  I  saw  it 
I  went  to  my  father,  threw  my  arms  around  his 
neck,  and  said,  "  Papa,  I  am  very  sorry  I  broke 
your  drinking  bowl,  but,  papa,  I  will  buy  you  an- 
other.    I  have  yet  that  soldo  you  gave  me  when 


20         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

you  were  writing  the  letter  for  Nita,"  and  I  handed 
the  soldo  to  him.  He  had  to  smile  at  the  childish 
idea  that  a  penny  could  buy  a  bowl  which  cost  five 
lire. 

The  cappellano,  a  man  of  extremely  dark  com- 
plexion, did  not  like  children,  and  lectured  me  on 
disobedience  to  parents.  Among  other  things,  he 
said  that  the  children  of  Protestant  parents  were 
very  disobedient.  I,  who  had  never  heard  the  word 
"  Protestant,"  asked  who  were  the  Protestants,  and 
the  cappellano  answered,  "  Children  of  the  devil." 

"  Oh,  Signor  Cappellano,"  said  I,  "  we  have  a  pic- 
ture of  the  devil  in  our  church  and  he  looks  very 
black,  so  his  children  of  course  must  be  black." 

This  pleased  the  cappellano  very  much.  But  I 
went  on,  "  Signor  Cappellano,  why  do  you  look 
so  black  ?     Are  you  a  Protestant  ?  " 

This  observation  from  a  child  made  the  cappel- 
lano very  wroth  and  he  pulled  my  ears,  saying,  "  Do 
you  talk  so  to  me?    You  are  a  very  bad  boy." 

It  might  be  of  interest  to  explain  why  there  were 
in  Italy  in  my  boyhood  so  many  notari,  or  letter- 
writers.  Illiteracy  abounded,  and  few  could  read, 
or  write.  It  was  estimated  that  in  Florence,  the 
most  cultured  of  all  the  cities  in  Italy,  about  eighty 
per  cent,  of  its  two  hundred  thousand  population, 
were  illiterate.  Therefore,  in  those  days  notari 
were  common;  more  so  than  lawyers  in  America 
to-day.  Schools  were  few,  and  only  those  who 
intended  to  follow  some  profession  attended  them. 


THE  NOTARO'S  HOME  21 

No  educational  provision  was  made  for  the  masses. 
Therefore,  multitudes  depended  on  these  notari  to 
write  letters  and  legal  documents. 

Since  tlie  unity  of  Italy  was  effected  in  1870, 
free  schools,  supported  by  the  government,  have 
been  established  in  every  city,  town  and  hamlet, 
and  parents  are  compelled  by  law  to  send  their 
children  to  these  schools  a  certain  number  of  hours 
each  day.  This  has  wrought  a  real  transformation 
of  the  people  in  the  way  of  education.  It  is  to  be 
doubted  if  one  can  now  find  in  Florence  ten  per 
cent,  of  the  population  that  cannot  read  or  write. 
The  present  generation  is  being  educated,  thanks  to 
the  wise  action  of  the  Italian  government.  Letter- 
writers  have  now  entirely  disappeared,  except  in 
some  parts  of  southern  Italy.  In  those  days  of 
darkness,  the  Church  fully  realized  its  cherished 
motto,  "  Ignorance  is  the  mother  of  devotion,"  but 
should  not  have  forgotten  the  fact  that  "  Ignorance 
is  the  destroyer  of  the  mental  faculties." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  LITTLE  DRUMMER 

WHEN  I  was  ten  years  old  my  father  sold 
out  his  business  in  Florence  and  moved  his 
family  to  the  beautiful  city  of  Barga,  some 
forty  miles  away,  a  town  of  seven  thousand  people. 

He  chose  Barga  for  his  future  home  because  his 
two  brothers  lived  there.  The  three  brothers  were 
the  only  members  of  the  family  that  remained  since 
it  emigrated  from  Corsica,  their  original  home. 

Barga  is  beautiful  for  situation,  and  is  known 
throughout  Italy  as  the  "  Queen  of  Panoramas,"  be- 
cause from  its  throne-like  site  an  enchanting  view  of 
the  surrounding  beauties  of  her  kingdom  can  be  had. 

The  city  is  built  upon  a  high,  round-topped  hill. 
It  is  walled  on  three  sides,  north,  west  and  south. 
On  the  east  there  is  no  need  of  a  wall,  for  that 
entire  side  is  bordered  by  a  precipice  called  La  Ripa, 
which  descends  five  hundred  feet  to  the  valley 
below.  The  precipice  is  perpendicular,  and,  with 
the  three  walls,  makes  the  town  almost  impreg- 
nable.   It  is  the  natural  Gibraltar  of  Italy. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill  on  the  east  side  is  a  level 
plateau,  about  two  acres  in  extent,  and  on  this  the 

22 


THE  LITTLE  DRUMMER  23 

cathedral  of  Barga  stands.  From  this  plateau  the 
city  slopes  gradually  toward  the  north,  west  and 
south,  with  the  appearance  of  gigantic  steps.  On 
these  descending  slopes  the  houses  are  built. 

The  cathedral,  or  Duomo,  deserves  our  attention, 
for  its  interior  is  very  beautiful,  being  lined  with 
alternate  black  and  white  blocks  of  marble.  It 
looks  as  if  draped  in  mourning,  but  the  effect  is 
pleasing  to  the  eye.  The  pulpit  is  a  marvel.  It  is 
built  of  the  same  material  as  the  church,  and  its 
enclosure  is  supported  by  four  marble  columns. 
The  two  front  columns  rest  upon  the  backs  of  full- 
sized  figures  of  lions.  Under  the  lion  on  the  right 
side  is  a  monster  serpent,  the  head  of  which  has 
been  broken  off,  so  that  the  design  cannot  now  be 
understood.  Under  the  lion  on  the  left,  between  its 
forelegs,  is  the  body  of  a  man  lying  on  his  back. 
With  one  hand  he  holds  the  lower  jaw  of  the  beast 
and  with  the  other  the  handle  of  a  dagger,  the 
blade  of  which  he  has  plunged  into  the  lion. 

On  three  sides  of  the  pulpit  are  carved  the  figures 
of  the  twelve  apostles,  with  their  faces  turned  up- 
wards, as  though  listening  to  the  preacher.  In  this 
church  are  to  be  seen  masterpieces  in  terra  cotta  by 
Luca  della  Robbia.  There  is  a  large  square  in  front 
of  the  church,  and  the  panorama  from  this  point, 
once  seen,  is  never  to  be  erased  from  the  memory. 
Let  us  look  carefully  at  it. 

At  our  feet  lies  the  city  with  its  many  churches, 
palaces,  squares,  streets  and  houses.  Beyond  the  wall 


24         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

of  the  city  we  see  the  beautiful  plain  of  Barga,  which 
at  first  is  about  a  mile  in  width,  but  spreads  in  fan 
shape  until  it  reaches  the  river  Serchio,  four  miles 
away,  where  it  broadens  to  six  miles.  The  soil  of 
this  plain  is  very  fertile  and  as  many  as  three  crops 
are  raised  during  the  summer  season.  Vineyards, 
olive  groves  and  fruit  trees  of  all  kinds  abound. 

As  we  look  to  the  south  and  west,  beyond  the 
plain,  the  gaze  meets  high  mountains,  rugged  and 
wild,  holding  this  beautiful  plain  and  quaint  city 
of  Barga  in  their  embrace.  From  the  square  as 
many  as  twenty-four  towns  and  villages  are  to  be 
seen,  some  of  them  on  the  plain,  otliers  nestling  on 
the  sides  of  the  mountains,  some  even  on  the  sum- 
mits, all  doing  homage  to  Barga. 

To  the  south  we  see  Monte  Ragno,  so  called 
because  of  its  spider-like  shape.  This  mountain  is 
the  home  of  millions  of  bees.  The  sides  of  the 
mountain  are  of  solid  rock,  so  nearly  perpendicular 
that  they  cannot  be  easily  scaled.  There  are  multi- 
tudes of  fissures  in  these  rocks,  which,  as  they  ex- 
tend, grow  larger  and  form  caves  of  considerable 
size.  These  fissures  serve  as  entrances  for  the  bees, 
and  in  them  immense  quantities  of  honey  are 
deposited.  As  the  hot  sun  shines  upon  the  rocks 
and  they  become  heated,  the  honey  in  the  caves 
melts  and  flows  through  the  fissures  down  the  face 
of  the  rocks.  The  contadini  come  with  pails, 
and  catch  the  delicious  liquid  as  it  drops  and 
carry    it    home    or    to    the    market.     Italy    i^iight 


THE  LITTLE  DRUMMER  25 

truly  be  called  a  land  which  flows  with  milk  and 
honey. 

■  As  we  look  to  the  west  from  the  square  we  see 
La  Pania,  a  mountain  so  called  because  it  is  a  bold, 
solid  rock.  From  the  base  to  its  highest  peak  on 
the  east  side  not  a  blade  of  grass  or  any  tree  or 
bush  is  visible.  However,  on  this  barren  mountain 
with  its  rocky  peaks  the  most  remarkable  freak  of 
nature  in  the  country  is  to  be  seen.  It  is  the  Natu- 
ral Bridge  of  Italy.  This  can  be  distinctly  seen  by 
the  naked  eye  from  the  square  before  the  Duomo 
twelve  miles  away. 

A  peculiar  phenomenon  is  caused  by  this  natural 
bridge,  giving  the  people  of  Barga  an  opportunity; 
of  witnessing  two  sunsets  in  one  day.     When  the 
sun  has  gone  down  behind  the  summit  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  the  sunset  has  become  twilight  brooding 
over  towns  and  plains,  suddenly  a  great  flood  of 
light  illumines  the  valley  and  brightens  the  entire' 
landscape.    It  is  the  sun  behind  the  mountains,  shin- 1 
ing  under  and  through  the  arch  of  the  great  bridge,  | 
reminding  one  of  an  immense  searchlight.    This  sec-  I 
ond  sunset  lingers  only  long  enough  to  say  good-  \ 
night    to    Barga.      Then    the    departing    sunbeam  '^ 
creeps  up  the  sides  of  the  mountain  from  crag  toj 
crag,  until  it  has  reached  the  highest  summit  and| 
disappears.     On  the  other  side  of  this  mountaino 
stretches  the  blue  Mediterranean. 

North  and  east  of  Barga  is  another  range  of  the 
Apennines,  covered  by  a  fine  growth  of  chestnut 


26         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

trees.  These  are  kept  in  good  condition  for  the 
crop  of  nuts  they  produce,  and  to  the  Italians  these 
are  a  great  food  commodity.  Portions  of  the 
mountains  and  valleys  where  these  trees  abound 
are  rented  to  tlie  mountaineers,  who  in  the  fall  of 
the  year  gather  the  nuts  and  put  them  into 
metati,  for  the  purpose  of  drying  them.  The 
metato  is  a  small  building  of  stone  covered  with 
tiles.  About  four  feet  above  the  stone  floor  is  a 
platform  made  of  narrow  beams,  which  are  round 
and  reach  from  wall  to  wall.  These  beams  are  so 
laid  that  there  is  a  space  of  about  a  quarter  of  an 
inch  between  them  to  permit  the  heat  from  below 
to  pass  through.  The  nuts  are  placed  on  the  plat- 
form, underneath  which  a  fire  is  made  in  the  centre 
of  the  stone  floor  and  kept  burning  very  low  for 
forty  days.  At  the  end  of  this  time  the  nuts  have 
become  dry  and  hard.  The  fire  is  then  put  out, 
some  of  the  beams  are  removed,  and  the  nuts  fall 
upon  the  stone  floor.  They  are  then  placed  in  a 
long  bag,  and  threshed  by  being  pounded  upon 
a  block  of  smooth,  round  wood.  The  outer  shell 
is  thus  removed,  the  inside  shell  pulverized,  and 
the  whole  is  then  winnowed,  leaving  the  pure  white 
meat  of  the  nut,  which  has  become  almost  as 
hard  as  stone.  The  nuts  thus  prepared  are  taken 
to  the  grist  mill  and  ground  into  flour,  then  cooked 
into  polenta,  a  chestnut  mush,  and  prepared  for  eat- 
ing in  various  ways.  Millions  of  Italians  live  upon 
this  kind  of  food,  which,  because  of  its  wholesome- 


THE  LITTLE  DRUMMER  27 

ness  and  nutriment,  gives  health  and  strength.  The 
people  dread  a  failure  of  the  chestnut  crop  more 
than  anything  else,  for  such  a  misfortune  would 
cause  poverty  and  distress  in  many  parts  of  the  land. 
In  the  city  of  Barga,  surrounded  by  such  charming 
scenery,  I  passed  my  boyhood. 

My  passion  for  drumming  seemed  to  grow 
stronger  and  stronger,  keeping  step  with  my  physical 
growth  as  the  years  went  by.  No  sooner  was  I 
settled  in  our  new  home  than  I  went  about  the 
house  seeking  something  to  drum  on.  From  room 
to  room  I  would  go,  drumming  on  the  doors,  tables 
and  windows,  or  anything  that  would  respond  with 
a  sound.  In  the  garret  I  found  the  barrels  used 
for  transporting  the  family  goods  from  Florence, 
but  even  these  were  not  satisfactory,  I  was  about 
to  leave  the  garret  when  I  saw  in  the  corner  of  the 
room  a  round  object  of  the  shape  of  a  barrel  about 
two  feet  high  and  made  of  a  smooth,  thin  wood. 
In  the  side  of  it  was  a  small  opening.  I  struck  it 
with  a  stick,  and  it  made  a  noise  very  delightful  to 
my  ears.  It  seemed  even  pleasanter  than  the  sound 
made  by  a  real  drum.  I  tried  it  again  and  again, 
and  was  so  rejoiced  at  the  treasure  I  had  found  that 
my  heart  beat  in  tune  with  it, 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  I  must  have  drumsticks,"  and 
I  rushed  out  of  the  house  into  the  garden,  climbed 
a  cherry  tree,  and  broke  off  several  branches  covered 
with  unripe  cherries.  Having  found  what  I  wanted 
I  returned  to  the  garret  and  used  the  sticks  on  the 


28        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

improvised  drum.  Just  as  I  was  in  the  midst  of  my 
glory  and  full  of  delight,  a  big  black  cat  rushed  out 
of  the  hole  in  the  side  of  the  barrel,  with  blazing 
eyes,  mewing  and  spitting  furiously,  and  ran  out 
of  the  room.  I  felt  curious  to  look  under  the  article 
on  which  I  had  been  drumming;  so  I  turned  it  over 
and  found  the  under  side  open.  As  I  looked  in,  my 
eyes  were  fixed  and  the  drumsticks  fell  from  my 
hands.  I  saw  something  I  had  never  seen  before. 
I  was  not  frightened,  and  yet  I  could  not  stir.  What 
was  it?  There  were  four  beautiful  black  kittens, 
which  had  not  yet  opened  their  eyes.  I  took  them 
up  very  tenderly  and  patted  them,  and  waited  for 
the  cat  to  come  and  feed  them,  but  after  a  while  I 
put  them  down,  for  I  heard  my  father's  angry 
voice  calling  me  to  come  down  without  delay.  I 
obeyed.  The  notaro  took  hold  of  me  in  a  not  very 
gentle  manner,  led  me  into  the  garden  to  the  cherry 
tree,  and  demanded  in  a  stern  voice,  "  Who  has 
done  this,  I  want  to  know?  Do  you  hear?"  As 
I  had  never  heard  the  story  of  George  Washington 
and  the  cherry  tree,  I  assumed  a  very  innocent  ex- 
pression and  looking  into  my  father's  face,  said, 
"  Father,  I  did  not  do  it." 

"  Boy,  tell  me  the  truth !  Your  mother  saw  you 
with  her  own  eyes." 

I  felt  compelled  to  admit  my  guilt,  confessed  my 
fault  and  received  the  severe  punishment  I  de- 
served. 

The  next  day  I  went  of  course  to  the  garret  to 


THE  LITTLE  DRUMMER  29 

the  kittens;  but  to  my  great  sorrow  never  again 
did  I  see  either  cat  or  kittens. 

On  Christmas  day  of  that  year  the  notaro  made 
me  the  present  of  a  real  drum.  In  the  wide  world 
that  morning  of  general  rejoicing  there  could  not 
have  been  found  a  heart  which  contained  more  joy 
than  mine.  As  my  father  handed  me  the  present 
and  I  realized  that  it  was  a  real  drum,  I  was  like 
one  transfixed.  All  I  could  do  was  to  dance  around 
the  idol  of  my  heart.  I  am  afraid  I  even  forgot  to 
thank  my  father  for  the  gift.  I  looked  at  the  brass 
bands  and  tried  the  cords.  I  took  the  sticks  in 
my  hands  and  very  gently  and  carefully  tapped  the 
drumhead.  The  sound  was  more  than  I  could  bear, 
and  I  cried  for  very  joy. 

My  mother  took  me  on  her  knees  and  said,  "  What 
is  the  matter,  dear  son  ?  " 

"  Mother,  I  am  too  happy,"  I  replied. 

The  notaro  was  afterwards  heard  to  say  that  if 
there  was  anything  he  regretted  in  his  life,  it  was 
giving  me  the  instrument,  "  for,"  said  he,  "  he  tor- 
ments the  life  of  us  all  with  his  eternal  drumming." 

There  was  no  need  to  teach  me  to  play,  for  I  was 
a  born  drummer  boy.  My  uncle,  Pietro,  who  was 
a  member  of  the  town  band,  prevailed  on  the  band- 
master to  make  me  the  tenor  drummer,  and  for 
years  I  played  with  the  band  on  all  occasions. 
Those  years  were  the  happiest  in  my  life.  To  have 
a  drum  and  a  uniform  was  the  goal  of  my  highest 
ambition. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  LIBERTY  POLE 


ONE  day  while  I  was  amusing  myself  as  I  did 
most  of  the  time  playing  on  my  acquired 
treasure,  my  uncle  called  to  inform  me  that 
at  two  o'clock  that  afternoon,  I  must  report  at  the 
band's  headquarters. 

It  ought  to  be  remarked  at  this  point  that  the  peo- 
ple of  Italy  had  been  stirred  up  by  the  "  Carbonari," 
or  "  Young  Italy,"  a  political  society,  to  a  pitch  of 
revolt  against  the  existing  rulers  of  the  land,  which 
led  to  the  revolution  of  1848  and  1849.  Once  a 
week  the  people  of  Barga  gathered  in  the  largest 
square  to  hear  the  news  read  by  Cavaliere  Ber- 
tacchi,  and  this  was  the  occasion  at  which  the  band 
was  to  appear  on  that  day.  At  the  appointed  time, 
dressed  in  my  uniform,  I  was  there.  On  the  way 
to  headquarters  I  noticed  that  there  was  an  un- 
usual commotion  among  the  people,  who  seemed  to 
be  in  a  state  of  intense  excitement,  as  if  in  anticipa- 
tion of  something  very  unusual.  All  were  dressed 
in  their  Sunday  clothes,  and  were  walking  in  the 
direction  of  Piazza  Mordini.  Soon  an  immense 
crowd  had  gathered  to  hear  the  news  of  the  day. 

30 


THE  LIBERTY  POLE  31 

All  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  balcony  over  the  main  en- 
trance of  Palazzo  Bertacchi.  A  stone  stairway  led 
from  the  square  to  the  balcony.  The  door  of  the 
balcony  opened  and  out  walked  Cavaliere  Bertacchi 
with  a  newspaper  in  his  hand.  He  was  cheered  by 
the  crowd  below,  and,  as  soon  as  quiet  was  restored, 
he  began  to  read  the  latest  news  to  the  people,  who, 
with  upturned  faces,  eagerly  listened. 

It  is  a  sad  fact  that  in  a  city  of  six  or  seven 
thousand  souls  there  was  taken  at  that  time  but  one 
copy  of  a  newspaper,  not  because  the  people  were 
unable  to  pay  for  more,  but  because  illiteracy  was 
so  common  in  the  land  that  ninety  per  cent. 
of  the  inhabitants  could  not  read.  To  form  an  idea 
of  the  great  lack  of  education,  it  may  be  stated 
without  fear  of  contradiction  that  in  the  Dukedom 
of  Tuscany,  with  a  population  of  three  millions, 
there  was  but  one  newspaper  published,  "  II  Giornale 
Toscano,"  printed  by  order  of  the  government;  and, 
what  is  still  stranger,  its  circulation  was  so  small 
that  the  government  had  to  pay  quite  a  subsidy  to 
keep  it  going.  However,  since  the  unification  of 
Italy  and  under  the  leadership  of  a  wise  and  intelli- 
gent administration,  free  education  is  enjoyed  by 
the  people,  and  illiteracy  has  almost  disappeared. 

The  above  mentioned  journal  was  the  paper  from 
which  Signor  Bertacchi  read  to  the  crowd.  The 
clear  voice  of  the  reader  rang  out,  "  News  from 
Rome !  "  and  at  these  words  all  leaned  forward, 
anxious  not  to  miss  any  tidings   from  the  Papal 


32         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

Capital.     Wliat  made  the  news  from  Rome  so  im- 
portant was  the  election  of  a  new  pope. 

The  reader  continued :  "  Cardinal  Mastai  Ferretti 
has  been  elected  by  the  Holy  Ghost  and  proclaimed 
by  the  Holy  Council  Pope  of  the  Apostolic  Roman 
Catholic  Church.  As  his  Holiness  gave  the  Apos- 
tolic benediction,  in  his  address  to  the  people  he 
said  that,  first,  he  would  give  to  the  Papal  States 
a  new  constitution  in  which  he  would  grant  many 
privileges  never  heretofore  enjoyed  by  his  subjects." 
Great  cheering  by  the  crowd,  while  "  Viva  a  Pio 
Nono,  il  Mandato  da  Dio "  (the  one  sent  from 
God),  came  loud  and  clear  from  thousands  of  voices. 
The  reader  w'ent  on :  "  The  Pope  expresses  himself 
strongly  in  favour  of  Italian  unity,  and  says  that 
he  would  be  the  first  to  join  the  other  rulers  of  the 
land  in  an  effort  to  expel  Austria  from  Italian  soil : 
and  third,  He  himself  would  take  up  arms  against 
the  foreigners."  No  more  excitement  could  have 
been  caused  at  these  words  had  a  bomb  exploded 
in  the  midst  of  the  crowd.  The  scene  that  followed 
is  almost  beyond  description  with  its  "  vivas,"  glad 
shouts,  wild  gestures,  the  air  darkened  by  thousands 
of  hats  flung  up.  Those  who  had  no  hats  took  the 
coats  off  their  backs  and  threw  them  high  into  the 
air.  The  women  waved  their  handkerchiefs,  or,  if 
they  had  none,  their  aprons.  A  woman,  who  had 
in  her  arms  a  beautiful  baby,  held  it  high  in  her 
hands  above  her  head  and  turned  the  little  fellow' 
round  and  round,  which  made  the  baby  laugh  heart- 


THE  LIBERTY  POLE  33 

ily.  The  band  joined  in  the  vivas  by  playing  the 
national  air,  at  which  the  crowd,  wild  with  joy, 
began  to  dance. 

Just  at  that  moment  four  strong  men  rushed  up 
the  stairs  into  the  balcony  where  stood  Cavaliere 
Bertacchi,  seized  him  and  put  him  upon  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  strongest  of  the  four,  who  carried  him 
down  into  the  square.  Then  a  long  procession  of 
glad,  cheering  people  followed  the  newspaper  reader 
as  he  was  carried  on  the  men's  shoulders  to  the 
Duomo.  The  priest  was  called,  and  the  Te  Deum 
was  sung  in  honour  of  the  Pope. 

If  there  was  ever  anything  in  the  hearts  of  the 
Italians  for  which  they  longed  with  greatest  in- 
tensity and  most  sincerely  prayed,  it  was  the  unity 
of  Italy;  to  have  their  beloved  land  freed  from  the 
potentates  who  kept  the  country  in  turmoil,  and 
treated  the  people  as  though  they  were  slaves.  Sev- 
eral of  these  rulers  were  kept  on  their  tottering 
thrones  by  Austrian  bayonets,  thus  trampling  upon 
the  honour  and  prosperity  of  the  land,  and  for  this 
reason  Austria  was  bitterly  hated. 

The  nation  waited  patiently  and  long  for  the  new 
constitution,  and  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  fine 
promises  for  the  betterment  of  the  nation  made  by 
the  Pope.  But  these  promises  were  not  kept.  The 
people  had  faith  in  the  Vicar  of  Christ,  and  still 
believed  that  he  would  be  true  to  his  words.  They 
loved  him,  they  worshipped  him,  and  said  he  was 
sent  of  God  to  free  Italy  from  its  tyrants.     "  Pio 


34        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

Nono  "  was  upon  the  lips  of  all.  But  after  a  period 
of  weary  waiting  and  disappointment  it  began  to 
dawn  upon  the  popular  mind  that  the  Pope  had 
made  those  rosy  promises  simply  to  stay  the  hand 
of  rebellion.  He  had  seen,  when  he  came  into 
power,  that  the  country  was  ripe  for  a  revolution, 
that  this  was  the  case  not  only  with  the  Papal 
States,  but  also  with  all  the  states  in  Italy.  Hence, 
he  had  to  resort  to  some  measure  to  pacify  them, 
and  that  was  FRAUD. 

The  Carbonari  had  been  at  work  fomenting  a 
spirit  of  rebellion  and  crying  out  for  United  Italy. 
Carlo  Alberto,  king  of  Sardinia,  could  no  longer 
keep  his  people  quiet.  They  clamoured  that  Austria 
should  be  driven  out;  and  the  king,  gathering  his 
small  army  together,  was  the  first  to  march  against 
the  foe.  None  of  the  other  Italian  rulers  joined 
him  in  fighting  the  enemies  of  Italy.  The  Pope, 
who  had  said  that  he  would  be  first  to  march  against 
the  common  enemy,  did  not  move,  did  not  say  a 
single  word;  and  it  became  evident  that  he  was 
false  to  his  promises;  that  he  did  not  mean  to  give 
the  people  a  new  constitution,  or  do  anything  to 
better  their  condition. 

Carlo  Alberto's  army  was  defeated  by  the  Aus- 
trians,  whose  army  was  three  times  larger  than 
his.  And  thus  Austria  made  itself  even  stronger 
and  more  secure.  At  this  the  Italian  people  could 
no  longer  repress  their  hatred  for  their  tyrannical 
neighbours.    The  different  rulers  in  their  own  land 


THE  LIBERTY  POLE  35 

were  equally  despised,  the  Pope  was  no  longer  loved 
by  his  subjects,  and  instead  of  calling  down  upon 
him  the  blessings  of  Heaven,  maledictions  were 
heaped  upon  his  head. 

The  spirit  of  revolt  came  to  fever  heat  in  the 
month  of  January,  1849.  It  burst  forth  with  fury 
throughout  Italy.  The  people  armed  themselves, 
and  made  the  land  so  hot  that  the  several  potentates 
fled  from  their  shaking  thrones  to  save  their  lives. 
The  Pope  was  foremost  to  take  flight,  seeking 
refuge  in  the  fortress  of  Gaeta,  where  he  was 
guarded  by  a  strong  force  of  Bourbon  soldiers. 

The  cry  of  "  Liberty  for  Italy!  "  was  upon  every 
lip,  and  was  heard  from  the  Adriatic  to  the  Mediter- 
ranean, and  from  the  Apennines  to  Sicily. 

Giuseppi  Mazzini  immediately  called  together 
some  of  the  leading  Carbonari,  and  formed  a  Tri- 
umvirate for  the  government  of  the  republic. 
Rome,  the  Eternal  City,  for  the  first  time  since 
the  days  of  Rienzi  was  declared  free.  Garibaldi 
was  made  commander-in-chief  of  the  Army  of  the 
Italian  Republic.  The  new  Republic  embraced  Lom- 
bardy,  Tuscany,  Lucca,  Parma,  Medina,  Venice  and 
the  Papal  States.  Garibaldi  called  upon  the  people 
to  rally  to  the  aid  of  the  new  government,  and  help 
drive  the  foreigners  out  of  the  country. 

The  enemy,  of  course,  were  not  idle.  The  Aus- 
trians  sent  a  large  army  to  put  down  the  Republic, 
and  were  helped  by  the  so-called  Republic  of  France. 
The  King  of  Naples  also  sent  an  army  to  reinstate 


36        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

the  Pope  in  his  temporal  power.  Therefore,  Gari- 
baldi had  three  great  powers  to  fight.  But  his  fol- 
lowers were  brave,  and  everywhere  companies  of 
national  soldiers  were  organized.  In  every  town 
the  Liberty  pole  with  its  red  cap  was  erected. 

Barga  was  again  thrown  into  a  state  of  wild 
excitement.  The  people  of  the  little  city  welcomed 
the  new  government  with  joy,  and  on  the  second 
day  of  February,  1849,  the  Liberty  pole  was  erected 
in  the  Piazza  del  Mercato.  The  event  was  witnessed 
by  an  immense  crowd,  which  made  itself  hoarse  in 
shouting  "Viva  alia  Rcpuhlica! "  The  band,  of 
course,  was  present,  and  after  the  pole  had  been 
set  in  its  place  before  the  admiring  gaze  of  the  mul- 
titude, it  was  discovered  that  in  the  excitement  they 
had  neglected  to  place  the  red  cap  on  its  top.  It 
was  just  before  the  band  began  to  play  that  some 
one  called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "  The  red  cap  is  not 
yet  on  the  pole;  is  there  any  boy  who  will  climb 
it  and  put  the  cap  up  there  ?  " 

A  lad  named  Gigi,  a  little  older  than  I,  came 
forward  and  tried  to  climb  the  pole,  which  was 
over  sixty  feet  high,  but  failed  and  gave  it  up. 
When  I  saw  this  I  laid  down  my  drum,  took  the 
red  cap,  put  it  on  my  head,  and  began  the  ascent. 
As  I  was  a  good  climber  and  as  agile  as  a  cat,  I  got 
to  the  top,  where  the  pole  was  so  slender  that  it 
swayed  to  and  fro  in  the  wind,  but  I  clung  securely 
to  it.  The  crowd  below  were  breathless,  dreading 
lest  the  pole  should  break.    Some  of  the  women  put 


THE  LIBERTY  POLE  37 

their  hands  before  their  eyes  through  fear  of  seeing 
me  fall  to  the  ground.  I  had  nerve,  however,  and, 
while  with  one  hand  I  held  myself  to  the  pole,  with 
the  other  I  took  from  my  head  the  red  cap  and, 
by  stretching  myself  a  few  inches,  succeeded  in 
reaching  to  the  top  and  placing  the  cap  upon  it. 
Then  I  looked  down  at  the  cheering  crowd  while 
the  pole  was  still  swinging,  kissed  my  hand  to  the 
people,  and  slowly  descended.  However,  before  I 
came  within  reach  of  any  one,  I  paused  and  looked 
at  the  scene  below  me.  All  were  cheering,  the  men 
throwing  their  hats  and  caps  into  the  air,  the  ladies 
waving  their  handkerchiefs,  and  the  band  playing 
a  triumphal  march,  without  the  drum.  I  continued 
my  descent,  but  before  I  could  touch  the  ground  I 
was  caught  in  the  arms  of  the  tallest  man  in  the 
crowd,  a  Signor  Cordial,  whom  some  of  the  people 
called  "  the  Protestant,"  and  looked  upon  with  con- 
tempt, but  who  was  a  good  man  and  had  many 
friends  in  Barga.  In  a  few  seconds  he  put 
me  down,  and  the  women  almost  kissed  me  to 
death. 

Gigi,  who  had  failed  to  climb  the  pole,  looked 
daggers  at  me.  A  few  days  later  my  mother  and 
Gigi's  were  talking  together  about  the  great  event. 
Gigi's  mother  remarked  that  she  was  glad  that  her 
boy  had  failed,  for  she  would  not  for  the  world 
have  had  that  Protestant  take  her  boy  in  his  arms 
as  he  did  me,  for,  said  she,  "  that  is  a  sure  sign  he 
will    become    a    heretic,    and  be  excommunicated 


38        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

by  Holy  Church.  I  am  going  to  make  a  priest  out 
of  my  boy,  and  yours  will  be  a  Protestant." 

At  these  words,  my  mother  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  and  said,  "  Maria  Santissima,  forbid  that  my 
son  should  become  a  heretic  and  be  lost!  " 

A  company  of  national  guards  was  formed  in 
Barga  under  the  leadership  of  Captain  Carrara. 
I  and  another  boy  of  my  age  were  chosen  to  be  the 
drummers.  My  father  was  a  corporal  in  the  com- 
pany. 

On  the  last  day  of  February,  1849,  I  said  fare- 
well to  my  mother.  Had  I  known  then  that  for 
twenty-three  years  she  would  not  see  her  son 
again,  had  I  known  the  severe  ordeals  I  should 
be  compelled  to  undergo  in  those  years,  their  hor- 
rors, sorrows,  agonies  of  soul,  and  sufferings  al- 
most beyond  human  endurance,  I  would  never  have 
left  her,  and  this  story  would  never  have  been 
written. 

With  our  company  I  marched  from  Barga  to 
Pietra  Santa,  where  there  was  an  important  fort 
overlooking  the  Mediterranean.  We  were  sent 
there  to  guard  that  post. 

However,  when  news  was  received  that  the  allied 
armies  of  Austria  and  France  were  marching  on 
Rome  from  the  north,  and  the  Bourbons,  led  by 
the  King  of  Naples,  from  the  south,  and  as  all  the 
hundred  men  were  not  needed  at  Pietra  Santa,  it  was 
decided  to  send  fifty  to  meet  the  Nationals  and  join 
them  at  Leghorn.     I  accompanied  this  detachment. 


THE  LIBERTY  POLE  39 

At  Leghorn  we  joined  the  Tuscan  National 
Guards,  and  soon  marched  to  Rome,  reaching  there 
April  28,  1849.  For  the  first  time  I  saw  the 
Eternal  City,  and  the  impression  it  made  upon  my 
mind  was  lasting. 

On  that  day  the  people  of  Rome  gave  the  Tuscan 
volunteers  a  hearty  welcome.  General  Garibaldi, 
at  the  head  of  the  Roman  troops,  came  to  meet  us, 
and  while  we  were  marching  through  the  Corso, 
the  Broadway  of  the  Roman  capital,  I  first  saw 
him  as  he  rode  his  spirited  horse  along  that  thor- 
oughfare, which  was  strewn  with  flowers.  The 
Eternal  City  was  made  to  shake  with  "  Viva  a  Gari- 
baldi, the  soldier  of  the  people!  "  while  the  tricolour 
was  everywhere  displayed.  Rome  was  full  of  joy 
and  hope.  Although  Garibaldi  was  called  by  the 
enemies  of  freedom  an  adventurer,  a  brigand,  yes, 
the  anti-Christ,  yet  the  people  loved  him,  and  in  him 
alone  had  confidence. 

The  populace  and  soldiers  were  all  Roman 
Catholics,  but  it  was  not  against  the  Pope,  as  head 
of  the  Church,  that  they  took  up  arms :  though 
they  knew  that  the  Pope  was  unfit  to  occupy  St. 
Peter's  chair,  and  felt  that  the  priests  were  a  cor- 
rupt class  of  men.  Their  reasoning  was  this :  Be- 
cause they  had  a  bad  Pope  and  a  corrupt  priesthood, 
that  will  not  make  their  religion  bad.  They  were 
fighting  against  a  tyrant  to  drive  him  out  of  their 
country.  In  fighting  the  head  of  the  Church,  they 
did  not  become  atheists,  nor  Protestants.    They  re- 


40        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

tained  their  faith,  and  simply  rose  up  to  set  aside 
a  clerical  traitor  for  whom  they  had  now  no  love. 
It  is  indeed  remarkable  that  Italy  did  not  plunge 
into  an  excess  of  unbelief.  On  the  contrary  every 
mother  said  her  prayers  as  usual,  and  taught  them 
to  her  children.  The  priests  were  allowed  to  go  on 
unmolested  with  their  religious  ceremonies.  Italian 
Roman  Catholics  do  not  act  as  many  Protestants  do, 
saying  that  because  there  are  some  bad  men  at  the 
head  of  the  Church,  they  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  and,  if  a  church  member  does  any  wrong, 
stay  away  from  their  church  and  neglect  all  Chris- 
tian duties.  Protestants  who  take  this  attitude  are 
not  as  wise  as  are  faithful  Roman  Catholics. 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ROME 


THE  Siege  of  Rome  began  the  last  day  of 
April,  1849,  and  lasted  until  the  third  of 
July  in  the  same  year.  The  city  was  fiercely 
bombarded  by  the  Vandals  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. Many  historical  monuments  were  destroyed, 
and  masterpieces  of  the  fine  arts  were  greatly  dam- 
aged. Day  after  day  shells  flew  over  Monte 
Janicolo  and  Porta  San  Pancrazio  into  that  section 
of  Rome  known  as  the  Trastavere,  killing  many 
of  the  inhabitants  in  their  own  homes.  The  citizens, 
as  they  became  accustomed  to  the  bombardment, 
would  greet  each  projectile  with  derision,  calling 
out,  "  Ecco  un  Pio  Nono  "  (here  comes  another 
Pio  Nono).  This  was  said  in  recollection  of  the 
fine  promises  made  by  the  Pope  to  the  people  a 
year  before,  when  he  called  them  his  beloved  chil- 
dren and  gave  them  his  blessing.  Now  he  gave 
them  bombshells.  The  shells  came  so  thick  into 
that  part  of  the  city  that  women  and  children  would 
pick  them  up  and  throw  them  into  the  Tiber.  After 
a  heroic  resistance  of  many  weeks  against  the  allied 
French,   Austrians   and   Bourbons,   seeing  that   to 

41 


42         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

oppose  the  enemy  any  longer  would  be  but  an  un- 
necessary waste  of  Italian  lives,  Garibaldi  issued 
orders  to  the  soldiers  to  save  themselves  as  best 
they  could.  He  with  many  of  his  followers  marched 
out  of  Porta  San  Giovanni  into  the  Campagna  and 
hence  to  the  mountains,  and  then,  having  arrived 
at  the  Adriatic  Sea,  sailed  for  America.  Others  of 
Garibaldi's  soldiers  fled  along  the  Appian  Way,  and 
hid  themselves  among  the  ruins  or  in  the  Catacombs. 
Then,  under  the  cover  of  night,  they  fled  to  the 
mountains,  thus  escaping  the  foe.  Some,  however, 
were  not  so  fortunate,  and  did  not  get  away  from 
the  city  before  the  enemy  came  in.  Those  who  had 
the  presence  of  mind  to  lay  down  their  arms  were 
arrested,  not  as  prisoners  of  war,  but  as  brigands 
and  outlaws,  and  were  afterwards  sent  to  the  Castle 
of  St.  Angelo,  the  well-known  city  prison  of  Rome. 
Those  who  still  retained  their  arms  were  shot  down 
without  mercy. 

During  the  siege  three  thousand  of  the  National 
Guard  were  kept  in  Trastavere  as  a  reserve,  while 
Garibaldi,  with  the  main  army,  was  on  Monte 
Janicolo  holding  at  bay  the  immensely  superior  force 
of  the  enemy,  fighting  the  most  desperate  battles 
of  his  career. 

On  the  first  of  July,  1849,  at  midnight,  five 
hundred  of  the  reserve,  among  whom  were  myself 
and  comrades  from  Barga,  were  ordered  to  march 
at  double-quick  to  Piazza  del  Popolo.  The  word 
had  been  received  that  the  Bourbons  from  Naples 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ROME  43. 

had  taken  Ponte  Molle  and  were  approaching  that 
point.  We  arrived  there  in  the  morning,  and  were 
stationed  in  the  Piazza  to  guard  the  gate  at  that 
locahty. 

At  five  o'clock,  while  shells  came  thick  and  fast 
from  the  Neapolitan  cannon  into  the  square,  I 
was  hit  by  a  piece  of  a  bursting  shell,  which 
struck  my  upper  lip  and  lodged  in  my  jaw.  This 
caused  me  great  suffering  and  much  loss  of 
blood. 

Five  hours  afterwards  the  Bourbons  approached 
the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  carrying  with  them  the 
hated  Austrian  flag,  at  the  sight  of  which  my  com- 
rades threw  down  their  arms  and  unburdened  them- 
selves of  everything  else  that  would  prevent  speedy 
flight.  I  was  told  to  put  down  my  drum  and  follow 
them.  All  ran  to  the  Pincian  Hill  and  into  the 
Campagna  beyond,  thus  making  their  escape.  It 
was  hard  for  me  to  leave  my  idol,  that  very  drum 
my  father  had  given  me  as  a  Christmas  gift.  But 
I  laid  it  down  very  carefully,  placing  upon  it  the 
drumsticks  covered  with  blood.  I  began  to  run 
after  my  comrades,  who  were  some  distance  ahead 
of  me,  but  I  stopped  to  look  back  at  my  drum,  and 
my  love  for  it  was  so  great  that  I  could  not  resist 
going  back.  This  I  did,  and  as  I  took  it  up,  a 
rough  voice  called,  *'  Halt,  or  I  fire !  "  and  at  the 
same  time  a  strong  hand  was  laid  upon  my  shoulder. 
Looking  back  I  saw  a  squad  of  the  soldiers  of  King 
Bomba.     I  was  then  in  my  sixteenth  year;  I  was 


44        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

strong  for  my  age,  and  yet  a  mere  bambino.  I 
was  surrounded  by  seven  soldiers  fully  armed,  who 
immediately  handcufifed  me.  The  corporal,  who 
looked  to  me  more  like  a  fiend  than  a  human  being, 
took  my  precious  drum  and  smashed  it  with  his 
beastly  foot.  He  then  said,  "  May  the  head  of 
the  arch  brigand  and  his  red-shirted  devils  be 
crushed  as  I  have  crushed  this  drum,  in  the  name 
of  the  Holy  Father!  "  As  I  saw  my  drum,  the  idol 
of  my  heart,  being  thus  demolished,  it  seemed  that 
all  the  evil  in  my  nature  overcame  the  better  part 
of  myself,  for  I  was  burning  with  desire  to  be  re- 
venged. I  was  handcuffed  and  could  not  use 
my  hands,  I  drew  a  little  away  from  the  man,  and 
then,  like  an  enraged  tiger,  rushed  at  the  cor- 
poral, struck  him  a  blow  with  my  foot  in  a  very 
tender  part  of  his  uncouth  body,  and  sent  him 
sprawling  upon  the  ground.  For  a  few  moments, 
he  writhed  in  pain  and  raved  like  a  mad  bull.  He 
soon,  however,  regained  his  feet  and  I  felt  that  my 
end  had  come.  My  lips  were  swollen  and  pained 
me  greatly,  but  I  fell  upon  my  knees  and  prayed 
aloud,  "  Holy  Mother  of  God,  protect  this  bambino 
for  the  sake  of  thy  Son,  Jesus  Christ,  who  was 
unmercifully  murdered  by  savage  men  like  this  one 
who  is  going  to  murder  me."  Then  I  paused  for 
a  moment  and  looked  at  the  man's  blood-stained 
hands.  I  kept  staring  at  those  bloody  hands,  and 
exclaimed,  "  See  innocent  blood  upon  that  man's 
hands!"     Then,  looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes, 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ROME  45 

I  said,  "'Assassino  dei  bambini!"  (Murderer  of 
children!) 

The  effect  of  that  prayer  was  striking.  The 
man  was  astounded.  He  looked  at  his  hands  and, 
seeing  them  stained  with  blood,  he  turned  pale  and 
seemed  alarmed.  He  evidently  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing, but  acted  as  though  he  had  lost  his  power 
of  speech.  There  was  a  struggle  going  on  in  his 
breast,  but  soon  the  little  good  that  was  in  him  was 
overcome  by  his  brutish  nature,  for  he  gave  a  fiend- 
ish laugh,  and  said,  "  Ah,  this  is  the  way  the  arch- 
brigand  Garibaldi  taught  you  to  play  the  drum,  was 
it?  (referring  to  the  kick  I  gave  him).  Well, 
well,  I  am  not  through  with  you;  I  will  teach  you 
the  right  way  to  play  the  drum." 

I  could  not  surmise  what  the  man  was  going  to 
do,  but  from  the  evil  in  his  eyes  I  felt  that  it  must 
be  something  horrible.  Then  he  called  two  of  his 
soldiers  and  told  them  to  hold  the  boy  up  while  he 
drummed.  Even  then  I  could  not  guess  what  was  to 
come,  but  it  was  soon  revealed.  The  brute  took  my 
drumsticks  and  began  to  drum  furiously  upon  my 
bare  head.  Although  it  caused  me  great  pain  to 
move  my  lips  I  gave  a  piercing  cry  of  agony,  which 
was  heard  by  a  troop  of  French  soldiers  led  by  their 
captain.  As  the  Piazza  del  Popolo  is  a  large  square, 
it  took  some  seconds  before  they  reached  us.  Oh ! 
the  agony  of  that  moment !  I  continued  to  scream 
from  pain,  and  soon  began  to  be  dizzy.  Rome  and 
the  soldiers  seemed  to  turn  round  and  round.     I 


46        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

was  delirious  and  about  to  fall,  when  the  approach- 
ing French  soldiers  saw  what  the  corporal  was 
doing.  Their  captain  cried  out,  "  Stop  that,  you 
brute !  "  The  corporal  then  paused  and  explained, 
"  I  am  punishing  him  because  he  resisted  arrest." 
At  this  the  French  soldiers  laughed  in  contempt, 
and  the  captain,  who  spoke  Italian  well,  said, 
"  What !  he  resisted  arrest,  did  he,  and  you  have 
seven  strong  men  and  could  not  arrest  a  little  boy 
who  is  more  dead  than  alive?  You  cowards !  You 
pounded  his  head  with  the  drumsticks  because  you 
are  a  brute  and  a  scoundrel.  You  are  a  murderer, 
not  of  men,  for  you  are  too  much  of  a  coward; 
but  of  bambini."  Then  the  captain  said  a  few 
words  to  his  soldiers  in  French  which  I  did  not 
understand,  and  my  tormentor  withdrew  with  his 
men. 

I  was  taken  charge  of  by  four  French  soldiers. 
They  looked  at  me  pityingly  when  they  saw  the 
blood  oozing  from  my  ears  and  nose,  caused  by  the 
drumming  on  my  head.  They  asked  me  questions, 
but  as  they  spoke  in  French  I  could  not  answer  them. 
Then  one  of  the  soldiers  examined  my  wound,  and 
seeing  that  it  was  not  dangerous  we  started  for 
the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo.  I  was  in  a  fearful  con- 
dition, being  covered  with  blood  and  very  weak,  not 
only  from  the  loss  of  blood,  but  also  for  want  of 
nourishment.  I  made  signs  as  if  I  were  thirsty, 
and  the  soldiers  gave  me  a  little  brandy,  but  I 
could  not  take  it.    The  spectators  along  the  way  as 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ROME  47 

they  saw  my  plight  would  say,  "  Poverino ! " 
(Poor  boy!).  We  passed  a  fountain,  where  one 
of  the  soldiers  washed  the  blood  from  my  face,  and 
then  gently  tied  a  handkerchief  over  my  swollen 
mouth.  When  we  reached  the  castle  the  keeper  at 
its  gate  asked  my  name.  He  saw,  however,  that 
I  could  not  speak  and  did  not  ask  any  further  ques- 
tions. I  was  then  taken  into  a  large  room  where 
there  were  many  Garibaldians,  easily  distinguished 
by  their  red  shirts.  I  looked  around  to  see  if  I 
knew  any  of  them,  but  all  were  strangers.  So  I  sat 
down  on  the  cold  stone  floor,  full  of  misery,  pain 
and  despair.  Some  of  the  other  prisoners,  seeing 
my  pitiable  condition,  came  and  spoke  words  of 
sympathy,  but  I  could  not  utter  a  sound.  How- 
ever, I  felt  that  I  was  among  friends  and  that  was 
a  consolation. 

Toward  evening  my  ration  was  brought,  con- 
sisting of  rye  bread  and  a  bowl  of  water.  Although 
I  was  very  hungry,  not  having  tasted  food  for 
nearly  two  days,  the  raw  condition  of  my  mouth 
prevented  my  taking  any  nourishment.  So  my  por- 
tion remained  untouched.  Then  I  surveyed  the 
scene  before  me. 

The  prisoners  made  a  striking  picture  in  their 
red  shirts.  The  Garibaldian  uniform  consisted  of 
blue  trousers  and  a  red  woolen  shirt  of  blouse  shape 
and  loose  in  the  sleeves.  A  black  leather  belt  and 
a  blue  berretta,  or  cap,  completed  the  costume,  which 
with  its  blue  and  red  made  a  pretty  effect.     Amer- 


48         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

ican  ladies  at  one  time  assumed  the  fashion  of 
wearing  "  Garibaldis,"  and  I  must  say  that  I  have 
never  seen  one  of  them  look  more  charming  than 
when  attired  in  that  costume. 

When  night  settled  upon  us,  we  found  that  there 
had  been  no  provision  made  for  our  rest,  no  blankets 
given,  no  place  assigned.  Th.ere  was  no  spot  where 
we  could  lie  down  except  the  cold  stone  floor.  It 
was  midnight  when  a  kind-hearted  Garibaldian 
came  to  me  and  said,  "My  lad,  are  you  alone? 
Have  you  no  friends?"  I  attempted  to  move  my 
lips  to  speak,  but  the  pain  was  too  great.  Finally 
I  managed  to  utter  the  one  word,  "  Solo  "  (alone). 
Again  the  man  asked  where  I  had  come  from,  and 
after  many  attempts  I  succeeded  in  saying,  *'  Barga." 
Seeing  that  my  efforts  to  talk  caused  me  great 
suffering,  he  sat  down  and  examined  my  lip.  He 
looked  at  my  ears  clotted  with  blood,  felt  my  pulse 
and  went  away,  but  soon  reappeared,  accompanied 
by  another,  wdio  I  noticed  was  an  official  of  rank. 
Afterwards  I  learned  he  was  a  surgeon  in  the  army 
of  Garibaldi.  His  name  was  Donato  Mancini,  and 
he  was  from  the  city  of  Siena,  Tuscany.  He 
spoke  very  kindly,  and  asked  many  questions,  but 
I  could  not  answer;  all  I  could  do  was  to  nod  or 
shake  my  head  in  response.  The  kind-hearted  man 
then  said,  "  You  are  a  very  sick  boy,  but  if  you 
are  brave  and  patient,  I  will  get  you  well  in  a  few 
days."     He  laid  his  hand  upon  my  head,  saw  that 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ROME  49 

it  was  a  mass  of  wounds  and  swellings,  and  said 
to  his  companion,  "  Some  one  must  have  pounded 
his  head,  to  have  caused  the  blood  to  flow  from  his 
ears.  This  is  more  serious  than  the  wound  in  his 
lip." 

I  saw  that  the  surgeon  wanted  to  know  how  this 
had  happened,  and  so  I  began  to  use  my  hands  as 
if  playing  the  drum.  "  Oh,  I  see,"  said  he,  "  you 
are  a  drummer  boy ;  but  where  is  your  drum  ?  " 
The  mention  of  this  caused  the  tears  to  flow  down 
my  cheeks.  A  vessel  of  water  was  then  brought, 
and  the  surgeon  proceeded  to  wash  my  head  and 
ears,  rubbing  into  the  scalp  some  kind  of  oil  which 
partly  relieved  the  soreness.  Then  he  took  his  in- 
struments, pried  open  my  mouth,  and  put  into  it 
another  instrument  with  which  he  kept  it  open. 
The  pain  was  very  severe,  but  I  bore  it.  The  tears 
flowed  down  my  cheeks  thick  and  fast.  Many 
Garibaldians  had  gathered  around  us,  and  they 
looked  upon  me  with  tenderness  and  compassion, 
saying,  "  Poverino."  Some  asked,  "Who  is  he?" 
and  others  of  the  lookers-on  when  they  saw  the  ex- 
pression of  intense  suffering  upon  my  face  would 
say,  "  Be  easy,  Signor  Surgeon."  I  noticed  one 
kind-hearted  man  who  kept  his  snuff-box  in  his 
hands,  and  whenever  he  saw  the  tears  begin  to 
flow  from  my  eyes  he  would  take  a  pinch  of  snuff 
and  pass  the  box  around.  It  almost  made  me  laugh 
to  see  this  good-natured  soul,  who  seemed  so  inter- 
ested in  the  operation  that  he  forgot  all  else,  and 


50        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

when  he  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  instead  of  carrying 
it  to  his  nose,  would  sometimes  put  it  into  his 
mouth,  which  made  him  cough  and  choke. 

The  surgeon  finally  said  to  those  around,  "  I 
have  taken  a  piece  of  shell  from  his  upper  jaw. 
The  wound  has  been  thoroughly  washed  with  a 
preparation  of  carbolic  acid,  and  there  is  now  no 
danger  of  blood  poisoning.  The  boy  will  be  all 
right  in  a  few  days.  He  needs  nourishment  badly, 
and  we  must  get  something  he  can  eat."  Another 
man  cried  out,  "  The  lad  must  not  lie  on  the  cold 
stone  floor.  Let  us  make  a  bed  of  our  Garibaldis. 
Here  goes  mine !  "  and  he  took  his  Garibaldi  off 
and  laid  it  on  the  floor.  No  sooner  had  he  done 
this  than  there  were  quite  a  number  of  red  shirts 
piled  upon  the  floor,  which  made  a  comfortable 
bed.  When  the  man  with  the  snuff-box  had  added 
his  to  the  pile,  he  came  up  holding  his  snuff-box, 
and  said,  "  Here,  my  boy,  take  a  pinch  of  snuff, 
it  will  do  you  good."  I  smiled,  meaning,  "  Thank 
you,"  but  shook  my  head.  Lying  on  the  bed  of 
Garibaldi  shirts  I  soon  fell  into  a  sound  sleep  that 
lasted  until  morning,  although  at  times  I  was  fever- 
ish and  delirious,  not  from  the  effects  of  the  wound 
in  my  jaw,  but  because  of  the  pounding  given  me 
on  the  head  by  that  cruel  corporal.  The  surgeon, 
who  came  in  the  morning,  gave  me  medicine, 
washed  my  wound,  and  then  asked,  "  Has  anything 
to  eat  been  given  the  lad  ?  "  Just  then  the  warden 
came  to  see  how  many  he  would  have  to  provide 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ROME  51 

breakfast  for.  The  surgeon  took  the  occasion  to 
speak  to  him  when  he  reached  us,  saying,  "  Signer 
Custode,  please  look  at  this  lad  and  see  how  swollen 
his  mouth  is.  He  cannot  eat  the  food  you  provide; 
can  you  not  get  the  poor  boy  a  bowl  of  brodo  (beef 
tea)  ?  " 

The  jailer  did  not  even  look  at  me,  but  replied, 
"  Even  the  bread  given  you  is  much  too  good. 
Nothing  should  be  wasted  upon  such  brigands  and 
rebels  as  you  are." 

"  Well,  then,"  retorted  the  kind  surgeon,  "  I 
would  rather  be  a  brigand  than  an  assassin.  For  if 
you  refuse  the  proper  kind  of  food  to  this  lad,  it 
is  the  same  as  murdering  him.  But  come,  you  are 
a  father,  for  I  saw  a  beautiful  boy  about  your  knees 
yesterday.  I  am  a  father  and  I  have  a  boy  about 
the  age  of  this  sick  child,  and  my  father's  heart  goes 
out  in  pity  for  his  suffering.  This  lad  no  doubt 
has  a  father  and  mother  who  love  him  as  you  love 
your  own  boy.  We  do  not  know  who  he  is,  because 
he  cannot  talk  on  account  of  the  swollen  condition 
of  his  mouth.  For  the  sake  of  the  blessed  Mother 
of  Christ,  send  the  poor,  forlorn  lad  a  bowl  of 
brodo." 

The  jailer,  who  had  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  sur- 
geon while  he  was  speaking,  cried  out  in  a  sneering 
tone,  "Away  with  you,  you  red-shirted  devils!  If 
you  were  all  dead,  our  Father,  the  Pope,  would 
never  have  been  subjected  to  such  base  humiliation 
as  to  be  compelled  to  flee  from  the  Holy  See  of 


5J         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY, 

St.  Peter's.  No  mercy  for  you  rebels !  "  and  he 
walked  off. 

As  the  surgeon  spoke  of  my  parents,  for  the  first 
time  since  I  was  wounded  I  thought  of  my  home, 
and  as  he  said,  "  No  doubt  he  has  a  mother  who 
loves  him,"  all  my  mother's  kindness  rushed  into 
my  mind.  Oh !  how  I  longed,  in  my  sad  condition, 
for  my  mother's  tender  care.  I  remembered  how 
when  I  was  sick  she  would  hold  me  in  her  lap  and 
smooth  my  black  hair  and  bathe  my  fevered  head 
with  cold  water,  soothing  me  by  singing  in  her  sweet 
voice;  how  she  would  cook  my  favourite  eggs  for 
me  in  the  embers  on  the  hearth,  and  how  anxiously 
she  watched  day  and  night  round  my  bed.  "  Oh ! 
mother,  if  you  could  only  see  your  Tonio  now,  but 

I   fear "  and  I  sobbed  as  if  my  heart  would 

break. 

While  I  was  thus  musing  a  man  came  bearing 
a  large  bowl  of  brodo,  which  he  said  was  for 
me,  giving  it  to  the  doctor,  who  was  still  holding 
my  hand  in  his.  It  was  evident  that  in  spite  of 
the  jailer's  severe  words,  his  heart  had  been  touched 
by  my  plight,  for  while  the  doctor  was  feeding 
me,  with  the  aid  of  a  syringe,  the  ctistode  passed 
by,  and  I  noticed  that  his  face  had  a  pleased  ex- 
pression. I  was  fed  by  the  kind-hearted  doctor 
until  he  thought  I  had  enough.  Then  he  put  the 
bowl  near  my  head  on  the  stone  floor,  and  covered 
it  over  with  his  handkerchief.  The  food  made 
me  feel  better,  and  while  I  lay  there  more  at  ease 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ROME  53 

I  watched  my  fellow-prisoners  eat  their  poor  por- 
tion of  hard  rye  bread.  Some  of  them  to  make  the 
bread  more  palatable  would  dip  it  in  water.  For 
their  dessert  the  man  with  a  snuff-box  passed  that 
around,  and  they  all  took  a  pinch  of  snuff.  The 
Italians  are  very  fond  of  this,  many  being  slaves 
to  the  habit. 

Just  as  I  was  about  to  drop  into  a  sound  slumber 
toward  night,  two  turnkeys  came  to  where  I  was 
and  said,  "  We  are  to  take  you  away,  little  boy." 
My  friend,  the  surgeon,  asked  them  where  I  was 
to  be  taken,  but  they  refused  to  answer.  The  doc- 
tor, seeing  that  it  would  be  useless  to  question  them 
further,  said  to  me,  "  Can't  you  bear  a  little  pain 
and  tell  us  your  name?"  "Do  tell  us,"  all  cried 
out,  and  by  making  a  tremendous  effort,  I  man- 
aged to  say  "  Anto "  but  could  not  go  further. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "Antonio?"  I 
nodded  my  head.  They  then  asked  me  where  I 
came  from,  and  the  man  who  had  first  questioned 
me  interposed  and  said,  "  From  Barga,"  and  again 
I  nodded  my  head. 

I  was  obliged  to  leave  my  comfortable  bed  of 
Garibaldi  shirts,  and  as  I  was  about  to  be  led  away 
the  kind-hearted  Garibaldians,  full  of  sympathy, 
said,  "  God  bless  you !  "  The  surgeon  kissed  my 
forehead,  and  said,  "  Good-bye,  my  son."  I  shook 
hands  with  all,  and  my  snuff-box  friend  offered  me 
a  parting  pinch  of  snuff,  which  I  did  not  take. 

The  fact  that  I  am  living  to-day  is  due  to  the 


54        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

efforts  of  that  kind-hearted  surgeon,  whose  memory 
will  never  be  erased  from  my  mind  and  heart. 

I  walked  between  the  two  turnkeys,  who  were 
kind  enough  to  let  me  walk  as  slowly  as  I  wished. 
I  gave  many  a  parting  backward  glance  at  my  com- 
rades until  they  were  no  longer  in  sight.  We  soon 
came  to  a  long  winding  stair  which  we  began  to 
ascend.  The  climb  was  a  hard  one,  and  from  ex- 
haustion I  was  compelled  to  stop  several  times  and 
rest;  but  the  turnkeys  never  urged  me  to  go  on 
until  I  felt  able  to  resume  the  climb.  At  the  head 
of  the  stairs  there  was  a  large  corridor.  I  saw 
through  the  windows  that  we  were  at  the  top  of 
the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo.  From  the  windows  a 
splendid  view  of  all  Rome  could  be  had.  At  the 
end  of  the  corridor  the  turnkeys  opened  a  door 
which  led  into  a  large  hall  in  which  there  were  many 
beds,  some  containing  sick  people.  It  was  the 
prison  hospital.  I  was  taken  to  a  man  who  seemed 
to  be  an  officer.  When  he  started  to  question  me 
the  turnkeys  informed  him  I  could  not  speak  on 
account  of  my  wound. 

"  But,"  said  the  officer,  "  I  shall  have  to  make  an 
entry.  However,  as  he  is  nothing  but  a  bambino, 
I  will  enter  him  as  such,  and  put  him  down  as 
Bambino  No.  i."  I  was  afterwards  known  by  that 
title. 

A  bed  was  assigned  me  near  a  window,  from 
which  I  had  a  fine  view  of  St.  Peter's  and  the 
Vatican.    This  room  was  a  paradise  compared  with 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ROME  55 

the  cold  and  gloomy  place  from  which  I  had  been 
taken.  It  was  bright,  cheerful  and  full  of  sunshine. 
The  nurses  were  all  monks,  some  of  whom  were 
cheery  and  even  jolly;  but  through  the  excessive 
use  of  snuff  their  beards,  faces  and  clothes  had 
become  very  dirty.  I  was  put  to  bed  by  one  of 
these  monks,  who,  when  he  saw  my  Garibaldi  uni- 
form, said,  "  Oh !  you  are  one  of  the  little  chickens 
hatched  by  that  devil  called  Signor  Garibaldi. 
Never  mind,  little  boy,  we  will  soon  take  the  spirit] 
of  rebellion  out  of  you." 

Just  then  the  hospital  surgeon  and  another  monk, 
who  seemed  kind  and  fatherly,  approached  my  bed. 
The  dirty  monk  was  sent  away.  The  surgeon  made 
a  thorough  examination  of  my  condition,  and 
praised  highly  the  skilful  work  done  by  the  medical 
prisoner.  The  monk  and  the  surgeon  talked  to- 
gether, but  what  they  said  I  could  not  hear.  They 
treated  my  head  and  wounded  lip  very  carefully, 
and  when  I  bore  the  pain  with  courage  the  surgeon 
patted  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  said,  "  Poverino,  so 
your  name  is  //  Bambino  No.  i."  Then  he  went 
away,  but  the  good  monk  remained  and  sat  down 
by  my  bed  talking  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  his  own 
child.    I  soon  closed  my  eyes  and  slept  soundly. 

Next  morning  the  monk  was  still  there,  ready  to 
give  me  my  medicine.  He  seemed  to  have  become 
proud  of  his  charge.  Toward  evening  I  closed  my 
eyes  again,  and  would  have  gone  into  a  sweet 
slumber  but  for  the  fact  that  I  heard  the  monk, 


56        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

\vho  was  at  my  bedside,  talk  to  himself,  in  the  form 
of  prayer. 

"  Dear  Father  in  Heaven,"  he  said,  "  look  with 
pitying  eyes  upon  this  Thy  child  who  is  sick,  and, 
if  it  is  Thy  will,  restore  him  to  health.  Thou  know- 
est  there  are  hearts  that  love  this  lad,  aching 
because  they  do  not  know  what  has  become  of  him. 
Thy  servant  knows  the  agony  he  felt  when  he  lost 
the  little  boy  Thou  gavest  him.  I  confess  that  my 
Beata  and  I  sinned;  but  we  loved  each  other  so 
deeply,  so  sincerely,  that  we  disregarded  the  law 
of  the  Church,  and  we  lived  together  faith- 
fully as  husband  and  wife.  A  beautiful  boy  was 
given  us.  For  fourteen  years  he  was  our  only 
joy.  Oh !  how  w^e  loved  that  child !  When  the 
cholera  came  and  swept  away  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  people  in  Rome  and  took  away  my  Beata 
and  little  Gianni,  I  was  left  broken-hearted.  Now, 
this  lad  is  the  picture  of  my  own  boy.  No  one 
knows  his  name  or  where  he  came  from.  Father, 
grant  that  the  heart  of  Thy  servant  may  be  cheered 
and  gladdened  by  taking  this  child  as  his  own  and 
bringing  him  up  for  Thee." 

Then  the  poor  monk  sobbed,  and  sighed  deeply 
again  and  again.  I  was  touched  by  his  sorrow,  and 
laid  my  hand  upon  his  bowed  head.  In  a  moment 
he  was  upon  his  feet  and  looked  at  me  with  tear- 
stained  eyes  in  such  tenderness  that  it  thrilled  me, 
and  we  immediately  became  fast  friends. 

That  night  Rome  was  ablaze  with  illumination. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ROME  57 

St.  Peter's  and  the  Vatican  looked  like  a  sea  of  light. 
I  have  never  witnessed  anything  more  beautiful. 
It  was  glorious.  The  monk  helped  me  stand  on  the 
bed,  so  that  I  had  an  enchanting  view  of  all  Rome. 
What  made  the  illumination  appear  strange  was 
that  only  the  churches  and  public  buildings  were 
illuminated.  This  was  done  in  honour  of  the  Pope, 
who  that  day  had  returned  from  the  fortress  of 
Gaeta. 

I  was  well  taken  care  of  by  my  friend,  Fra  Do- 
menico,  who  would  call  me  "  II  mio  Gianni  "  (my 
Johnnie).  It  seemed  queer  that  he  would  ask 
neither  my  name  nor  my  home,  even  though  I  was 
now  able  to  talk.  One  day  Fra  Domenico  and  an- 
other monk  were  talking,  and  I  heard  him  say, 
"  Now  that  Gianni  is  well,  I  will  ask  the  authorities 
to  let  me  have  him  as  my  own  son,  for  I  love  him 
dearly,  and  will  bring  him  up  for  God  and  the 
Church.  As  to  his  being  a  Garibaldian,  I  will  fix 
that  with  the  Secretary  of  State  to-morrow,  when  I 
hope  to  have  an  audience  with  him." 

As  Fra  Domenico  turned  away  I  saw  upon  the 
face  of  the  other  monk  a  sinister  expression  which 
probably  meant,  "  A  good  chance  for  me  to  become 
the  head  nurse  of  the  hospital."  Then  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders  in  Italian   fashion  and  disappeared. 

I  had  been  in  the  hospital  for  over  six  weeks, 
and  was  now  as  strong  as  ever.  I  still  wore  my 
Garibaldian  uniform.  My  hair,  which  had  been 
cut  close,  was  now  curly  and  thick,  and  I  looked 


58        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

well  in  every  way.  Next  morning  Fra  Domenico 
said,  ''  Gianni,  my  boy,  I  am  going  away  to-day, 
and  shall  be  gone  perhaps  also  to-morrow.  I  am 
going  to  see  a  great  man,  and  shall  endeavour  to 
have  him  use  his  influence  that  I  may  take  you 
away  from  the  hospital." 

He  kissed  me,  and  that  was  the  last  I  ever  saw 
of  that  good  friend.  I  waited  anxiously  for  his 
return  all  that  day,  and  hoped  that  the  next  would 
bring  him  back,  but  on  the  morning  of  the  second 
day  I  was  awakened  by  two  Papal  guards  who 
told  me  to  get  up.  My  Garibaldian  uniform  was 
taken  away,  and  I  was  commanded  to  put  on  the 
clothes  they  had  brought.  The  suit  was  made  of 
woolen  cloth,  and  its  design  was  yellow  and  black 
in  stripes  that  ran  around  it.  It  fitted  me  very 
tightly.  The  guards  then  cut  my  hair  close  to  the 
scalp,  and  told  me  to  move  on  with  them. 

I  questioned  them  as  to  why  I  was  dressed  in 
so  ugly  a  uniform,  and  one  of  them  replied : 

*'  Because  you  have  been  sentenced  to  be  a 
galeotto." 

I  asked,  *'  What  is  a  galeotto?  " 

The  answer  was,  "  Poor  fellow,  you  will  find 
that  out  soon  enough !  " 

I  was  then  taken  into  a  large  room  where  I 
found  many  men  dressed  in  a  garb  similar  to  my 
own.  Without  further  ceremony  we  were  all 
marched  to  the  railway  station,  handcuffed,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  strong  guard  of  Papal  troops. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ROME  59 

The  train  carried  us  to  Civita  Vecchia,  a  seaport 
about  sixty  miles  northwest  of  Rome.  Having 
arrived  there  we  were  put  into  a  large  building 
called  the  Galera. 

I  did  not  then  realize  the  awful  sentence  passed 
upon  me.  Youth  and  inexperience  hid  from  my 
imagination  the  fearfulness  of  the  penalty  allotted 
me. 

The  Papal  authorities  did  not  look  upon  the  Gari- 
baldians  as  prisoners  of  war,  but  as  rebels  and  out- 
laws, and  so  we  were  condemned  to  live  the  lives 
of  galley-slaves. 

A  more  forlorn  and  dejected  set  of  men  than 
my  companions  I  have  never  seen.  They  looked 
as  if  they  had  been  condemned  to  death.  Perhaps 
I  was  the  most  cheerful  of  all,  not  having  a  full 
realization  of  what  was  before  me. 

Note  :  ' '  The  restored  Papacy,  under  the  guidance  of  Antonelli 
(Secretary  of  State),  followed  no  longer  the  half-liberal  policy  of 
Pio  Nono's  first  years,  but  the  old  clerical  regime  of  the  former 
popes.  Every  vestige  of  representative  government,  every 
trace  of  institutions  securing  person  and  property  against  abso- 
lute power,  was  swept  away  ;  the  Liberal  press  was  again  si- 
lenced ;  the  spies,  lay  and  clerical,  were  again  let  loose  on  the 
people ;  the  prisons  and  galleys  were  filled  with  those  who 
had  consented  to  serve  the  Republic." 

—From  "Garibaldi's  Defence  of  the  Roman  Republic  in 
1849,"  page  235,  by  C.  M.  Trevelyan. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  drummer's  MOTHER 

WE  must  now  return  to  the  Piazza  del  Popolo 
where  I  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  foe, 
while  my  comrades  were  fleeing  in  the 
direction  of  the  Pincian  Hill,  Some  of  my  com- 
panions looking  back  saw  me  surrounded  by  the 
enemy.  They  perceived  that  I  had  been  taken 
prisoner  by  the  Bourbon  soldiers,  and  to  express 
their  grief  and  sympathy,  exclaimed,  "Poverino!" 
and  continued  their  flight  across  the  country.  Villa 
Borghese  was  soon  reached,  and  they  found  it  de- 
serted. Knowing  that  it  would  take  all  day  and 
perhaps  all  night  to  reach  a  town  where  food  could 
be  obtained,  they  foraged  in  the  Villa,  helping  them- 
selves to  what  provisions  they  could  find.  The 
Campagna  once  crossed,  they  arrived  in  the  town  of 
Viterbo,  about  a  hundred  miles  from  Rome.  There 
they  took  the  railroad  to  Florence,  where  a  grand 
reception  was  given  to  the  Tuscan  National  Guards, 
in  honour  of  their  having  escaped  from  the  hands 
of  the  enemy.  From  Florence  my  comrades  were 
sent  to  Barga. 

My  father  had  returned  from  Pietra  Santa,  where 
60 


THE  DRUMMER'S  MOTHER  6r 

he  had  been  stationed.  The  first  intimation  my 
mother  had  that  I  had  been  sent  to  Rome  was  when 
her  husband  returned  home.  He  endeavoured  to 
assure  her  that  I  was  safe,  and  that  I  would  soon 
be  back  sound  and  well,  but  the  poor  woman  had 
great  misgivings,  and  felt  that  it  was  not  well  with 
her  child.  Her  motherly  instinct  gave  her  terrible 
forebodings.  She  would  often  tell  him  that  she 
feared  her  idol  would  never  return. 

One  day  my  father  came  to  her  and  said  that  he 
had  great  news.  "  Tonio's  comrades  were  in  Flor- 
ence. To-day  they  are  to  arrive  at  Lucca,  and 
to-morrow  evening  they  will  reach  Barga." 

The  poor  woman  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  said, 
"  Will  my  boy  be  among  them  ?  "  "  Well,"  replied 
the  notaro,  "we  shall  soon  know  his  fate;  let  us 
hope  for  the  best."  That  night  the  anxious  mother 
could  not  close  her  eyes.  She  thought  of  the  mor- 
row, asking  herself  again  and  again,  "  Will  it  bring 
good  news?  Will  my  Tonio  come  back  to  me?" 
Then  she  would  leave  her  bed  and  kneel  at  its  side, 
praying,  ''Madonna  mia,  bring  my  boy  back,  and 
I  will  serve  thee  all  my  life."  Then  she  would  take 
off  her  wedding  ring  and  make  the  vow,  "  Madonna 
Santissima,  if  my  child  comes  back  to-morrow,  I 
will  lay  this  ring  upon  thine  altar,  and  it  shall  be 
thine." 

Anxiously  she  waited  during  the  next  day 
for  the  moment  to  arrive  when  the  soldiers 
were    expected.     Three    hours    before    the    time 


62         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

she  said  to  my  father,  "  Let  us  go  and  meet 
them." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented.  "  We  will  go  to  the  Villa 
Carrara,  for  from  there  we  can  have  a  clear  view 
of  the  road  for  a  long  distance."  So  they  went  to 
the  villa,  and  my  mother  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  way  by  which  the  soldics  were  to  come.  The 
road  was  soon  crowded  with  town  folk,  for  the 
people  of  Barga  were  anxious  to  do  their  best  to 
give  their  soldier  boys  a  royal  welcome. 

After  some  time  suddenly  there  was  a  cry,  "  They 
come,  they  come ! "  My  mother  stood  up,  and 
strained  her  eyes  in  their  direction,  listening  in- 
tently meanwhile  to  hear  the  drum.  But  no  such 
sound  reached  her  ears.  The  soldiers  advanced 
until  they  were  quite  near.  She  cried  out  and 
said,  "  I  do  not  hear  the  drum :  there  is  no  drummer 
boy,"  and  she  began  to  sob  wildly.  Captain  Car- 
rara, seeing  the  great  sorrow  of  the  mother,  called 
two  of  the  soldiers  to  him  and  brought  them  before 
the  sorrowing  woman.  As  my  mother  saw  them, 
she  asked  in  anguish,  "  Where  is  my  boy  ?  What 
has  become  of  him  ?    Oh !  tell  me  all !  " 

They  told  her  how  they  had  seen  Tonio  sur- 
rounded by  the  Bourbon  soldiers,  and  that  they  be- 
lieved he  had  been  taken  prisoner.  One  of  them 
said  to  her,  "  I  told  the  lad  to  leave  his  drum  and 
follow  us,  and  I  saw  him  lay  it  down  and  run  after 
us;  but  after  running  a  while  I  looked  back  to  see 
if  he  was  following,  and  to  my  amazement  saw 


THE  DRUMMER'S  MOTHER  63 

that  he  was  going  back  for  his  drum.  I  cried  to  him 
to  leave  it  alone  and  save  himself.  But  it  was  too 
late.  As  I  came  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  I  saw  the 
poor  fellow  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy." 

"  Do  you  think  my  boy  is  alive?  "  she  said. 

"  I  firmly  believe  he  is,  for  who  would  be  so 
heartless  as  to  do  harm  to  such  a  lad  ?  "  was  the 
answer,  and  she  seemed  to  be  resigned. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  among  the  people,  and 
many  vivas  went  up  for  the  brave  soldier  boys  who 
had  fought  for  the  unity  of  Italy.  Every  member 
of  the  company  had  returned  with  the  exception  of 
myself. 

My  mother  could  not  stay  to  enjoy  the  festivities 
at  the  return  of  the  soldiers,  though  she  believed  now 
that  her  boy  was  alive.  The  thought  that  he  was 
a  prisoner  made  her  sad  beyond  expression,  and  she 
said  to  my  father,  "  I  cannot  stay  here,  I  must  go 
home  and  think  about  my  poor  child;  you  can 
stay  if  you  wish."  But  the  notaro  took  his  wife 
by  the  arm,  and  both  returned  to  their  desolate 
home. 

As  soon  as  they  were  in  the  house,  I  learned 
afterwards,  my  mother  went  to  the  cupboard  and 
took  out  two  fine  eggs,  saying  to  my  father,  "  Be- 
fore we  left  the  house  I  made  a  good  fire,  so  that  I 
would  have  plently  of  hot  ashes  to  cook  these  eggs  in 
for  our  boy.  You  know  how  fond  he  was  of  them; 
but  he  did  not  come,"  and  she  gave  way  to  un- 
controllable grief.    My  father  tried  to  cheer  her  by 


64        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

saying  that  on  that  very  day  he  would  write  to  his 
friend,  Notaro  Pierotti  in  Rome,  to  ask  him  to  try 
and  find  some  trace  of  the  boy;  and  he  added,  "  I 
will  do  all  within  my  power  to  find  him.  But  you 
know  it  is  not  safe  for  me  to  go  to  Rome,  since  I 
am  a  proscript,  having  taken  up  arms  against  the 
Holy  Father,  so  that  I  dare  not  put  my  feet  on 
Papal  soil." 

When  my  mother  became  calm  she  and  my  father 
began  to  discuss  means  of  hearing  from  me.  I 
could  not  read  or  write,  for  my  education  had  been 
deferred  until  I  should  be  fifteen  years  of  age, 
when  my  father  intended  to  put  me  through  a  course 
of  study  that  would  fit  me  to  take  his  own  place 
as  letter-writer. 

The  neighbours  came  to  my  afilicted  mother  and 
offered  their  sympathy,  trying  to  encourage  her 
with  kind  words  in  her  great  sorrow,  and  persuade 
her  to  believe  that  her  son  would  return.  Among 
these  was  Gigi's  mother  and  Gigi  himself,  the  lad 
who  had  failed  to  climb  the  Liberty  pole.  She  did 
not  look  upon  my  mother  with  very  sympathetic 
eyes,  but  rather  seemed  to  rejoice  at  her  sorrow. 
Before  she  left  her  she  said  proudly  that  her  boy, 
Gigi,  was  destined  to  occupy  a  high  position  in  life, 
for  he  was  under  the  protection  of  the  saints,  and 
would  in  time  become  a  priest  of  the  Holy  Catholic 
Church;  whereas  Tonio  was  but  a  proscript,  because 
he  had  taken  up  arms  against  the  Holy  Father  at 
Rome.     "  But,"  she  continued,  "  I  really  hope  he 


THE  DRUMMER'S  MOTHER  65 

will  be  restored  to  you.  Keep  up  a  cheerful  heart," 
and  she  left  the  house. 

A  month  later  my  father  received  a  letter  from 
his  friend  Pierotti  in  Rome,  but  it  contained  nothing 
of  an  encouraging  nature.  Pierotti  had  sent  a  friend 
to  the  Castle,  who  made  inquiries  there  for  Tonio 
of  Barga;  but  the  boy's  name  could  not  be  found 
among  the  prisoners.  "  I  would  like,"  said  he,  "  to 
go  to  the  Secretary  of  State  and  make  inquiries,  but 
I  should  have  to  tell  him  that  the  lad  was  a  Gari- 
baldian  drummer,  and  that  would  put  me  in  danger 
of  becoming  a  suspect,  because  of  corresponding 
with  the  rebels." 

Month  after  month  passed  with  no  tidings  of 
their  son.  The  lawyer  Salvi,  a  man  who  stood  high 
in  the  Church,  wrote  a  letter  to  his  Eminence, 
the  Secretary  of  State,  and  an  answer  came 
saying  that  no  such  name  was  found  among  the 
rebels. 

My  poor  mother  was  much  changed.  Her  hair 
had  grown  whiter,  and  her  voice,  always  sweet,  now 
had  in  it  a  very  pathetic  tone.  Only  her  tenderness 
seemed  deeper  and  stronger  than  ever.  Whenever 
she  met  a  lad  of  her  acquaintance  she  would  reveal 
her  love  for  the  lost  one  by  her  tender  affection. 
Almost  a  year  had  passed  since  they  heard  any 
news  of  me.  With  the  exception  of  my  mother,  all 
had  given  me  up  as  dead.  She  hoped  against  hope. 
She  went  to  church  every  day  and  heard  mass  said, 
not  for  the  repose  of  her  boy's  soul,  but  to  intercede 


66         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

with  the  great  Father  above  to  bring  him  back  to 
her. 

One  day  my  father,  the  notaro,  told  my  mother 
that  he  should  be  obliged  to  leave  her  for  a  few 
days,  for  he  had  been  called  to  Siena  to  attend  to 
some  important  business.  The  next  morning  he 
journeyed  on  the  diligenna  to  Lucca,  from  there  to 
Florence,  and  by  rail  to  Siena.  He  made  his  head- 
quarters at  the  hotel  Stella  d'  Italia.  One  day, 
while  taking  his  dinner,  he  noticed  a  boy  sitting 
at  the  same  table  with  him.  The  more  the  notaro 
looked  at  the  lad,  the  more  forcibly  was  the  idea 
brought  to  his  mind  that  he  resembled  his  lost  son. 
The  boy  was  about  my  age,  possibly  a  little  younger. 
The  anxious  father  could  not  take  his  eyes  from 
him.  When  the  boy  noticed  that  the  notaro  con- 
tinually looked  at  him,  he  asked,  "  Sir,  why  is  it 
that  you  keep  your  eyes  directed  at  me  ?  Do  I  look 
like  any  one  you  know  ?  " 

My  father  answered,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  but 
you  do  look  very  much  like  my  poor  son,  Tonio." 

"  Why  did  you  not  bring  him  with  you,  so  that  I 
might  have  some  one  to  play  with  ?  "  said  the  boy. 

"  Oh !  "  my  father  sadly  answered,  "  I  fear  he  is 
no  more." 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  asked  the  boy  with  a  tone  of  sym- 
pathy. 

The  notaro  told  him  the  story  of  Tonio,  the 
tamburino  in  the  army  of  Garibaldi. 

The  boy's  eyes  sparkled  as  he  listened  to  the  nar- 


THE  DRUMMER'S  MOTHER  (>7 

rative,  and  exclaimed,  "  Oh !  how  I  wish  I  had  a 
drum  and  a  uniform !  " 

My  father  then  explained  to  the  lad  that  his  son 
had  been  at  the  siege  of  Rome,  was  there  taken 
prisoner,  and,  although  a  year  had  passed,  nothing 
had  been  heard  of  him. 

"Poverino!"  said  the  boy;  "it  makes  me  feel 
bad,  so  bad.  How  dreadfully  would  my  parents  feel 
should  I  be  lost!  They  love  me  so  dearly  that  I 
know  it  would  kill  father. 

"  And  you  cannot  hear  from  your  boy  ?  How 
sad !    Don't  you  think  you  will  ever  see  him  again  ?  " 

My  father  replied  to  the  boy's  eager  questions, 
and  said  that  he  feared  he  would  never  again  hear 
from  him,  but  it  gave  him  great  pleasure  to  look 
upon  one  who  so  resembled  his  son.  "  What  is 
your  name?"  he  asked.  "I  would  like  to  tell 
Tonio's  mother  when  I  return  to  my  home  that  I 
have  seen  a  boy  looked  much  like  our  dear  child." 

"  My  name  is  Peppe,  and  my  father's  name  is 
Donato  Mancini.  My  father  is  a  surgeon,  and  he 
keeps  this  hotel." 

Just  then  a  gentleman  entered  the  room  and,  as 
Peppe  saw  him  coming,  said,  "  There  is  my  father," 
and  ran  to  him  and  threw  his  arms  around  his 
neck.  Boy-like  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh !  papa,  come  and 
see  this  gentleman.  He  had  a  boy  who  looked  like 
me,  who  was  a  drummer  in  Garibaldi's  army,  and 
the  poor  fellow  is  lost,  father.  They  cannot  hear 
from  him.     It  is  a  year  now,  and  not  a  word  have 


68         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

they  had  from  their  boy,  and,  father,  his  name  is 
Antonio."  All  this  was  said  in  a  breathless  rush 
of  words. 

Peppe's  father  reproved  the  boy.  "  I  am  afraid 
that  you  have  been  bothering  this  gentleman,"  he 
said. 

The  notaro  exclaimed,  "  No,  quite  the  contrary. 
It  has  given  me  great  pleasure  to  talk  with  such  an 
intelligent,  bright  lad.  He  so  reminds  me  of  my 
son  that  I  could  not  refrain  from  looking  at  him 
constantly,  and  I  am  to  blame  for  starting  the  con- 
versation with  him.  I  was  telling  Peppe  how  my 
boy  served  as  a  drummer  under  Garibaldi,  that  he 
was  with  the  great  hero  at  the  siege  of  Rome  in 
the  summer  of  1849,  and  that  when  the  city  was 
taken  some  of  my  boy's  comrades  who  returned 
to  Barga " 

"  Barga, — Barga?  "  interrupted  the  surgeon.  "  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  have  heard  that  name  in 
the  same  connection."  Then  he  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment and  seemed  deep  in  thought.  Soon  he  said, 
"  Please  go  on;  your  story  interests  me  deeply." 

My  father  continued :  "  Some  of  my  boy's  com- 
rades said  that  the  last  they  saw  of  him  he  was 
surrounded  by  Bourbon  soldiers;  therefore,  they 
supposed  he  had  been  taken  prisoner.  That  is  all 
we  know  of  his  fate." 

Signor  Mancini  was  so  absorbed  in  his  thoughts 
that  he  did  not  hear  the  last  words  of  the  notaro. 
He  was  repeating  to  himself  the  names  *'  Barga  " 


THE  DRUMMER'S  MOTHER  69 

and  "  Antonio."  He  paused  a  moment  and  then 
exclaimed,  "  I  have  it,  yes,  I  have  it.  The 
boy  I  treated  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  who  had 
been  wounded  in  the  upper  lip,  must  be  the  same 
one."  And  then  he  said  to  the  notaro,  "  This  narra- 
tive interests  me  immensely,  for  I  was  a  surgeon  in 
the  same  army  with  your  son.  I  was  taken  prisoner, 
I  suppose,  on  the  same  day  as  your  boy,  and  was 
sent  to  the  same  prison." 

My  father  was  now  all  attention.  He  listened 
eagerly,  almost  fearing  to  breathe  lest  he  might 
lose  some  of  the  surgeon's  words. 

"  I  remember,"  continued  the  surgeon,  "  that  one 
of  my  men  came  to  me  a  little  before  midnight, 
and  said  that  there  was  a  boy  in  the  prison  who 
he  supposed  must  have  been  a  drummer,  for  he  wore 
the  red  shirt.  The  lad  had  been  badly  wounded  in 
the  upper  lip,  and  his  lips  were  so  swollen  that  he 
could  not  speak.  Without  waiting  to  be  asked  I  took 
my  surgical  instruments  and  followed  the  man.  I 
made  an  examination  and  saw  that  there  was  no 
time  to  lose.  First,  his  head  was  to  be  treated,  for 
it  was  covered  with  a  mass  of  bruises;  and  then 
I  extracted  from  his  upper  jaw  a  small  piece  of 
shell.  I  did  my  best  to  prevent  blood  poisoning. 
The  condition  of  his  head  made  me  feel  uneasy,  for 
I  feared  brain  fever.  I  asked  the  lad  how  it  hap- 
pened that  his  head  had  been  so  fearfully  bruised. 
In  a  feeble  way  he  began  to  drum  with  his  hands, 
meaning  that  somebody  had  used  his  head   for  a 


70        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

drum.  I  then  examined  his  body  and  found  no 
other  hurts.  The  poor  boy  was  very  weak,  and 
sometimes  delirious.  I  gave  him  a  good  rub  with 
alcohol,  and  as  he  needed  rest  a  bed  was  made  of 
Garibaldian  shirts  which  our  comrades  kindly  sup- 
plied, and  he  was  laid  upon  it.  He  soon  fell  into  a 
slumber  and  slept  well  all  night.  I  was  with  him 
till  morning,  for  I  was  afraid  to  leave  him  alone. 
I  spoke  to  the  custodian  of  the  prison,  telling  him 
that  the  boy  was  very  sick.  Then  an  order  was 
given  to  take  him  to  the  prison  hospital.  Before 
he  left  us,  I  asked  his  name,  and  the  poor  fellow 

said  '  Anto '  but  could  add  no  more  on  account 

of  the  pain  it  caused  him  to  open  his  mouth.  How- 
ever, I  knew  he  meant  '  Antonio.'  Then  I  asked 
him  where  he  came  from,  and  some  one  replied, 
*  From  Barga.'  " 

At  this  point  the  notaro  was  so  affected  that  he 
could  keep  silent  no  longer,  and  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  emotion  exclaimed,  "  That  was  my  Tonio,  my 
lost  boy."  Then  he  broke  down,  for  he  could  not 
control  his  emotion. 

When  he  finally  calmed  himself,  he  said,  "  I  have 
no  doubt  that  the  lad  to  whom  you  refer,  and  to 
whom  you  showed  such  great  kindness,  was  my  son. 
If  he  is  living  it  is  due  to  your  skill  and  your 
fatherly  care  of  him.  I  now  see  that  I  have  been 
led  by  a  kind  Providence  to  this  city,  and  to  this 
house.  My  heart  is  filled  with  deep  gratitude  to 
you.    My  wife,  who  has  suffered  so  much,  will  re- 


THE  DRUMMER'S  MOTHER  71 

joice  to  hear  of  your  kindness  to  her  child.  May  I 
ask  you  to  kindly  give  me  what  other  information 
you  may  have?  Do  you  think  my  son  is  still 
living?" 

At  this  point,  little  Peppe,  who  was  attentively 
listening  to  all  that  had  been  said,  and  feeling  deeply 
interested  in  the  welfare  of  Tonio,  said,  "  Surely 
he  is  living,  for  he  was  taken  to  the  hospital,  and 
you  remember,  papa,  when  mother  had  that  bad 
spell  of  sickness,  she  was  taken  to  the  hospital,  and 
she  came  out  well  and  sound." 

The  simplicity  and  sincerity  with  which  this  re- 
mark was  made  touched  my  father's  heart. 

The  surgeon  then  said,  *'  Well — well,  Signor 
?" 

"  Luca,  a  no^aro  from  Barga,  Tuscany." 
"  I  was  going  to  say,  Signor  Notaro,"  continued 
the  surgeon,  "  that  it  is  probable  your  son  is 
alive.  After  the  boy  was  taken  to  the  hospital,  I 
made  application  to  the  jailer  for  permission  to  visit 
him,  but  it  was  refused,  and  I  did  not  see  or  hear 
of  him  until  some  six  weeks  afterwards.  One  morn- 
ing about  ten  o'clock  a  monk  by  the  name  of  Padre 
Domenico  came  to  that  part  of  the  prison  where 
the  prisoners  were  whose  cases  had  not  yet  been 
disposed  of,  but  were  still  under  consideration.  The 
monk  asked  for  Signor  Donato  Mancini.  I  re- 
sponded to  the  call  and  was  permitted  to  go  outside 
into  the  corridor  with  the  monk,  who  said,  when 
we  were  alone,  '  I  have  been  told  by  a  turnkey  that 


^2         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

you,  as  surgeon,  treated  a  boy  who  had  been 
wounded  in  his  upper  lip.  You  will  remember  that 
he  was  placed  in  the  hospital  ward  of  the  prison? 
I  am  the  head  nurse  there,  and  had  nursed  that 
lad  for  six  weeks.  From  the  first  day  I  saw  the 
lad  I  loved  him,  and  under  my  care  he  got  well 
and  strong.'  " 

The  notaro  cried  out  with  great  joy,  "  Thank 
God,  Tonio  still  lives!" 

"  The  monk  added,"  he  went  on,  "  '  I  had  a — I 
mean  my  sister  had  a  boy  whom  we  called  Gianni. 
My  sister  and  Gianni  died  during  the  fearful  scourge 
of  cholera  we  had  some  years  ago  in  Rome.  I 
w^anted  to  adopt  this  drummer  boy  as  my  son.  I 
never  asked  his  name,  for  I  wished  him  to  forget 
it.  Therefore  I  called  him  Gianni.  Some  few^  days 
ago  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  visit  the  prison 
authorities  and  see  if  Gianni  could  not  be  given  to 
me,  as  the  child  was  apparently  alone  in  the  world. 
I  made  known  to  my  assistant,  Padre  Francesco, 
my  intention  of  adopting  the  boy.  He  said  nothing 
in  reply.  On  the  day  I  left  the  prison  to  attend  to 
this  affair,  I  said  to  my  assistant  that  I  would  not 
return  for  two  or  three  days,  and  asked  him  to 
take  good  care  of  Gianni.  He  simply  bowed,  and 
I  went  away.  The  man  betrayed  me.  He  informed 
the  custode  of  my  intentions,  he  in  turn  reported 
me  to  the  Cancelleria,  and  I  have  been  dismissed 
for  befriending  rebels.  When  I  returned  to  the 
hospital,  not  finding  the  boy  there,  I  asked  Padre 


THE  DRUMMER'S  MOTHER  yz 

Francesco  what  had  become  of  him.  He  repHed, 
with  a  sneer  on  his  face,  that  on  the  day  after  I 
left,  the  Papal  guards  came  and  took  him  away, 
saying  that  he  had  been  condemned  to  the  galleys, 
and  was  then  a  galeotto.'  " 

"Merciful  Heaven!"  exclaimed  the  notaro,  and 
covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands. 

Little  Peppe,  who  had  become  deeply  interested 
in  the  story,  cried  out,  "  Has  Tonio  been  killed, 
papa?    What  is  a  galeotto?  " 

The  kind  surgeon,  seeing  the  distress  of  the  no- 
taro, said,  "  Signor  Notaro,  have  courage;  perhaps 
it  is  not  as  bad  as  we  think.  I  have  a  few  words 
more,  and  my  story  will  be  ended.  The  monk  con- 
tinued :  '  At  the  word  galeotto,  I  lost  control  of 
myself.  I  was  enraged.  I  roared  out,  "  Frate 
cane!  (dog  of  a  monk)  this  is  your  fiendish  work, 
and  you  shall  pay  for  it."  Like  a  tiger  leaping  after 
its  prey,  I  made  for  the  monk,  and  seized  him  by 
the  throat.  I  got  him  down  on  his  knees  and  would 
have  choked  him  to  death  had  it  not  been  for  the 
other  nurses,  who  separated  us.  Afterwards  I 
learned  from  another  nurse  that  Gianni  had  been 
sent  by  train  to  Civita  Vecchia  that  very  morning. 
I  came  to  you,  Signor  Mancini,  to  tell  you  the  fate 
of  this  unfortunate  lad,  and  to  say  that  if  you  know 
the  name  and  address  of  his  parents,  who  must  be 
greatly  distressed  about  him,  I  will  write  to  them, 
and  let  them  know  where  the  poor  lad  is  to  be  found.' 
I  replied  that  all  I  knew  was  that  his  name  was  An- 


74        GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

tonio,  and  that  he  came  from  Barga.  The  monk 
continued,  '  He  was  a  bright,  intelHgent  lad,  and 
I  remember  how  sweetly  he  sang  to  soothe  the 
patients  in  the  hospital  when  they  were  groaning 
with  pain.  He  would  sing  "  Santa  Maria,"  and 
it  had  a  most  quieting  effect  upon  the  sick.  It 
breaks  my  heart  to  think  that  he  has  been  sen- 
tenced to  such  a  life,  which  is  worse  than  death.'  " 

As  the  surgeon  was  finishing  the  monk's  story,  his 
wife  came  into  the  room,  and  Peppe  quickly  ran 
to  her,  saying,  "  Mamma,  come  and  hear  the  story 
of  Tonio,  the  drummer  boy,  who  was  wounded  at 
Rome,  and  got  lost.    Here  is  his  father." 

Of  course  the  surgeon  briefly  related  to  her  the 
sad  narrative,  telling  her  that  the  notaro's  son  had 
been  condemned  to  be  a  galley-slave,  and  she  ejacu- 
lated, "Horrible!" 

My  father  sat  in  silence  for  a  while;  then  he 
asked  the  surgeon  to  tell  him  how  it  happened  that 
he  himself  was  set  free. 

"  You  ask  my  lady  and  she  will  tell  you  all,"  he 
replied. 

The  doctor's  wife  then  said  that  she  got  her  hus- 
band out  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo  by  giving  up 
all  she  had.  "  The  fortune,  which  my  father  left 
me,  all  that  I  possessed,  and  the  money  that  my 
husband  had  made  as  a  surgeon,  all  went  to  appease 
the  greed  of  that  avaricious  man,  the  Secretary  of 
State.  After  he  had  drawn  the  last  drop  of  blood 
from  our  veins  and  brought  ruin  upon  us,  he  finally 


THE  DRUMMER'S  MOTHER  75 

consented  to  have  my  husband  taken  to  the  boundary 
of  the  States  of  the  Church  and  there  go  free,  but, 
as  a  proscript,  never  to  set  foot  again  on  Roman 
soil. 

*'  That  unmerciful  man  said  that  the  Church  and 
the  Holy  Father  had  been  outraged  by  those  rebels 
and  outlaws,  and  demanded  that  everything  be  given 
up  to  the  State  to  atone  for  the  wrong  done  the 
Holy  See.  I  got  men  of  influence  to  plead  our 
cause,  but  to  no  purpose;  so  I  finally  assented  to 
his  demands,  and  we  were  left  in  utter  poverty. 
But,  thank  God,  I  got  back  my  husband.  We  opened 
this  hotel  and  are  doing  well.  My  husband  is  kept 
pretty  busy,  and  although  the  sacrifice  was  great, 
we  are  happy  and  contented.  I  wish  you  could 
get  your  boy  out  of  the  dreadful  life  he  is  now 
leading.  It  will  be  terrible  for  your  wife  to  hear 
of  the  awful  sentence  passed  on  her  son.  I  fear 
she  will  break  down.  You  have  our  deepest  sym- 
pathy. Peppe,  say  good-bye  to  the  gentleman,"  and 
Peppe  went  over  to  the  notaro,  shook  hands  with 
him,  and  said,  "  When  Tonio  comes  back,  bring 
him  up  here,  for  I  want  to  see  him." 

Next  morning,  as  my  father  took  his  leave  of 
Signor  Mancini,  he  asked,  "  Do  you  think  it  would 
be  safe  for  me  to  go  to  Rome?  " 

The  gentleman  replied,  ''  I  think  it  would  be  a 
risk,  as  you  have  been  in  the  army,  and  hence  are 
a  proscript.  Better  have  some  one  intercede  for 
you,  but  keep  out  of  the  Papal  States." 


76         GARIBALDI'S  DRUMMER  BOY 

They  then  shook  each  other  warmly  by  the  hand 
and  said,  "A  rivcdcrci." 

As  soon  as  possible  the  notaro  reached  his  home 
in  Barga.  The  first  thing  he  said  to  his  wife  was, 
"  I  have  news  of  our  boy.  I  have  heard  a  great  deal, 
but  nothing  very  encouraging." 

"  Is  he  still  living?"  eagerly  questioned  Angiola. 

"  Yes,  but  he  is  a  galeotto!  " 

"  Miscricordia.  Maria  Santissima!  "  exclaimed 
the  mother.  "  My  boy  a  galley-slave !  It  is  worse 
than  death,"  and  she  was  overcome  with  anguish. 

Soon  it  was  noised  in  the  town  that  the  notaro 
had  returned  from  Siena,  and  that  he  had  learned 
the  terrible  fate  of  his  boy  from  a  fellow-prisoner. 

The  mother  was  almost  overwhelmed  by  her  great 
sorrow,  and  the  neighbours  came  in  to  console  her 
with  kind  and  sympathetic  words.  By  and  by  she 
became  resigned,  hoping  against  hope  to  see  her 
beloved  child  again. 


PART  II 
o 

The  Galley-Slave  of  Civita  Vecchia 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  VA   IN   GALERA !  " 

"  J /^^  ^^  Galera!"  is  one  of  the  most  offensive 
M/  expressions  in  the  Itahan  language.  Al- 
though the  Galera  was  abolished  many- 
years  ago,  the  expression  has  remained,  and  is  a 
part  of  the  common  speech  of  Italy.  If  you  say 
to  an  Italian,  "  Va  all'  Inferno! "  he  will  not  resent 
it  much;  but  say  to  him  ''  Va  in  Galera!"  and  his 
hand  will  fly  to  the  hip  pocket  for  the  stiletto  or 
the  revolver. 

The  Galera  was  a  place  where  political  offenders 
and  criminals  of  high  degree  were  imprisoned, 
and  made  to  live  a  life  of  unspeakable  suffer- 
ing. The  horrors  of  that  life  were  bad  enough 
inside  the  Galera,  for  it  was  a  living  hell ;  but  when 
the  galley-slaves  were  taken  outside  the  prison- 
house  they  were  compelled  to  undergo  yet  worse 
miseries.  Two  by  two  they  walked,  chained  together 
at  the  ankles,  and,  under  the  cruel  lashes  of  slave- 
driving  guards,  they  were  compelled  to  do  the  most 
disgusting  and  repulsive  work,  work  unfit  to  be 
described.  If  they  did  not  move  rapidly  enough  to 
suit  the  cruel  guards,  down  would  descend  the  heavy 

79 


8o  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

whip-lash  upon  their  shoulders.  But  the  hardest  of 
all  was  the  fact  that,  although  surrounded  by  human 
beings,  there  was  no  one  to  pity  them,  for  no  one 
dared  to  say  a  good  word  or  do  an  act  of  kindness 
to  them.  Any  attention  to  a  galley-slave,  no  matter 
how  slight,  was  a  crime. 

One  kind  of  work  which  some  of  the  unfortunates 
were  compelled  to  perform  was  to  operate  tread- 
mills, such  as  were  to  be  seen  in  all  seaport  towns 
of  Italy.  In  one  of  these  I  toiled  for  a  number  of 
years. 

As  soon  as  we  entered  the  Galera  we  were 
marched  into  a  large  corridor  where  we  were  com- 
manded to  halt.  Then  we  were  ordered  to  stand  in 
single  file  with  our  backs  to  the  wall.  Our  hands 
were  manacled  by  the  guards,  and  shackles  were 
put  on  our  feet.  In  this  condition  we  were  com- 
pelled to  stand  for  more  than  an  hour,  when  I  saw 
a  man  who  seemed  to  be  a  doctor  or  a  surgeon  care- 
fully examining  each  of  the  prisoners,  to  see  if  any 
had  contagious  diseases.  As  this  man  drew  nearer 
and  I  had  a  better  chance  to  look  at  him,  what  was 
my  surprise  and  delight,  when  I  recognized  in  him 
the  very  man  who  had  treated  my  wound  the  first 
three  weeks  I  was  in  the  prison  hospital  in  Castle 
St.  Angelo.  As  he  came  to  where  I  stood,  and 
looked  at  me,  he  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  moment, 
then  in  horror  threw  up  his  hands  and  cried, 
"Gianni!  (using  the  name  given  me  by  Fra 
Domenico)  is  it  you,  or  do  my  eyes  deceive  me?" 


"VA  IN  GALERA!"  8i 

"Signer  Chirurgo  (surgeon),"  I  replied,  "yes, 
I  am  the  unfortunate  boy.    This  place  is  horrible." 

"  I  wish  I  had  the  power  to  set  you  free,"  said 
the  surgeon.  "  I  would  gladly  use  it,  but  I  can  do 
nothing.  Be  a  brave  boy,  and  I  will  speak  with  the 
head  keeper  of  the  prison  and  ask  him  not  to  put 
you  into  the  dungeon,  '  Notte  d'Inferno  '  (the  Night 
of  Hell),  for  I  fear  you  would  never  come  out 
alive.  What  became  of  Fra  Domenico,  who  seemed 
so  fond  of  you,  and  was  going  to  adopt  you  ?  Could 
he  not  prevent  your  being  sent  to  this  dreadful 
place?" 

I  replied,  "  Day  before  yesterday,  Fra  Domenico 
said,  '  Gianni,  I  am  going  away  for  a  couple  of 
days,  but  will  be  back  soon,  I  want  to  see  a  man 
high  in  authority  and  see  if  he  will  give  me  per- 
mission to  take  you  away  from  the  hospital.  Be 
of  good  cheer.  Addio,'  and  that  was  the  last  I  saw 
of  that  good  man." 

"  It  is  strange,  very  strange,"  said  the  surgeon. 
"  I  will  use  all  the  influence  I  have  with  the  custode, 
that  he  may  show  kindness  to  you."  Having  said 
this,  he  went  on  with  his  duties,  and  I  saw  him  no 
more. 

When  the  surgeon  had  finished  his  work,  the 
shackles  were  taken  from  our  feet,  and  we  were 
marched  into  a  large  room  called  by  the  galley- 
slaves,  "  Gabbia  del  Diavolo  "  (The  Devil's  Cage). 
This  room  was  about  seventy-five  feet  long  and 
about  fifty  feet  wide.     The  cage  was  inside  of  this 


82  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

room,  occupying  all  of  it  with  the  exception  of 
about  four  feet  between  the  east  and  west  walls  and 
the  bars  of  the  cage.  The  sides  of  it  were  of  iron 
bars,  set  about  three  inches  apart  and  running  the 
length  of  the  room  from  wall  to  wall,  fastened 
securely  into  the  brick  floor  and  reaching  up  to  the 
ceiling.  These  bars  were  covered  with  sharp  iron 
prongs,  making  it  impossible  for  any  one  to  come 
in  contact  with  them  without  feeling  their  keen 
edges,  thus  preventing  all  attempts  of  the  galley- 
slaves  to  break  through.  The  ceiling  was  about 
ten  feet  high,  and  a  tall  man  could  reach  it  with 
his  hands.  In  the  space  between  the  iron  bars  and 
the  walls  of  the  room  armed  guards  constantly 
paced  up  and  down,  keeping  a  vigilant  eye  through 
the  bars  upon  the  prisoners,  day  and  night.  On  the 
east  and  west  sides  of  the  room  were  large  windows 
which  admitted  light  and  air.  There  were  two 
small  gates  about  midway  in  the  long  line  of  iron 
bars,  one  on  the  east  side,  and  one  on  the  west. 
There  were  also  small  spaces  between  the  iron  bars, 
through  which  the  prisoners  received  rations  of 
hard,  black  rye  bread,  with  water  once  a  day,  ex- 
cepting Sunday,  when  they  received  a  small  piece 
of  meat  and  a  bowl  of  bean  soup. 

As  we  passed  through  the  iron  gates  into  the 
prison  cage  the  manacles  were  taken  off  our  hands. 
At  night  each  one  of  us  was  provided  with  a  single 
army  blanket,  which  we  wrapped  around  us,  and 
then  laid  down  on  the  brick  floor  to  sleep.    We  soon 


"VA  IN  GALERA!"  83 

got  accustomed  to  this  and  slept  soundly.  There 
were  no  benches  on  which  we  could  sit,  nothing  to 
rest  on  but  the  hard  brick  floor.  We  were  kept  in 
the  Gabbia  del  Diavolo  for  three  weeks,  when  some 
of  the  galley-slaves  were  led  out  to  work,  chained 
together  two  by  two.  It  was  the  prison  rule  that 
none  were  to  be  taken  out  to  work  unless  they  had 
passed  twenty-four  hours  in  the  dungeon,  called 
Notte  d'Inferno.  The  long  hours  spent  in  this 
"  Night  of  Hell  "  were  full  of  the  most  abominable 
tortures  man  has  ever  been  called  upon  to  undergo. 
This  cell  was  many  feet  underground,  in  size  about 
six  feet  by  ten,  and  entirely  dark.  From  the  ceiling 
drops  of  water  constantly  fell  upon  the  victims. 
The  walls  were  damp  and  slimy,  and  the  bare  feet 
of  the  prisoner  rested  upon  a  stone  floor  which  felt 
as  though  it  had  been  covered  with  the  lather  of 
soap.  If  one  attempted  to  move,  his  feet  would 
slip  from  under  him,  and  down  he  would  go.  To 
make  the  place  still  more  horrible,  live  eels  were  put 
into  the  dungeon,  and  when  the  tortured  victim 
came  in  contact  with  these  slimy  creatures  he  would 
scream  with  fright,  as  he  could  not  know  what  it 
was.  He  would  leap  up  into  the  air,  and  coming 
down  again  sprawl  on  the  slippery  floor.  His  at- 
tempts to  rise  would  only  result  in  repeated  falls. 
The  more  he  tried  to  stand  upright,  the  more  his 
frantic  efforts  would  result  in  his  falling,  and  often 
in  striking  his  head  against  the  walls  of  the  cell. 
Now  he  would  be  on  his  back,  now  on  his  stomach, 


84  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

now  on  his  side.  He  would  continue  to  struggle 
until  he  was  exhausted,  and  tried  to  rest  by  sitting 
down.  Then  he  would  catch  the  eels,  and  mad- 
dened with  fear,  tear  them  in  pieces  with  his  teeth. 
By  and  by  the  poor  unfortunate  would  become  de- 
lirious, and  see  in  that  dungeon  all  the  horrors  of 
hell.  After  being  there  some  fifteen  hours  he  would 
burn  with  high  fever,  suffering  more  than  the  agony 
of  death.  At  the  termination  of  the  twenty-four 
hours  when  taken  out  his  condition  can  hardly  be 
imagined.  It  would  take  hours  before  he  could 
talk  in  an  intelligible  manner  and  be  himself  again, 
yet  what  he  had  felt  and  seen  could  never  be  blotted 
out  of  his  memory.  The  design  in  putting  political 
offenders  into  the  Notte  d'Inferno  was  to  destroy 
the  spirit  of  revolt,  and  make  them  obedient  to  the 
laws  of  the  State.  Whenever  any  of  the  galley- 
slaves  committed  an  act  of  insubordination  the 
guard  would  whisper  in  his  ears,  "  Notte  d'In- 
ferno!" and  at  these  words  the  offender  would 
become  as  mild  as  a  lamb.  During  the  time  of 
my  stay  in  that  cage  I  do  not  remember  any 
disorder  or  misbehaviour  on  the  part  of  a  galley- 
slave. 

I  believe  that,  although  I  never  again  met  the 
kind-hearted  surgeon,  it  was  through  his  influence 
I  was  spared  being  buried  alive  in  that  horrible 
dungeon;  for  in  my  condition  I  could  never  have 
pulled  through.  I  knew  of  three  galley-slaves  who 
were  taken  out  of  it  dead.     Though  not  compelled 


"VA  IN  GALERA!"  85 

to  spend  twenty- four  hours  in  that  cell,  I  got  an 
inside  view  of  it  which  I  have  never  forgotten. 

One  day  I  was  taken  out  of  the  Gabbia  del 
Diavolo,  and  bid  to  follow  a  Papal  guard  who  stood 
by  my  side.  After  walking  some  distance  along  a 
narrow  corridor,  we  came  to  a  door  which  looked 
like  the  entrance  to  a  vault,  heavy  and  yet  narrow, 
it  being  just  large  enough  for  a  single  person  to 
pass  through.  This  door  was  opened,  and  beyond 
it  nothing  but  darkness  met  the  gaze.  The  guard 
lighted  a  lantern,  and  its  dim  rays  revealed  a  wind- 
ing stairway  extending  downward  from  the  door, 
which  appeared  to  descend  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
earth.  I  do  not  know  how  many  steps  we  went 
down,  but  it  seemed  as  though  we  should  never 
reach  the  bottom.  When  we  finally  reached  there 
another  door  like  the  one  above  confronted  us.  This 
was  also  opened,  and  then  we  saw  dimly  a  long 
corridor,  and  as  we  passed  through  it  I  saw  many 
small  cells,  all  empty.  Each  cell  contained  a  bed 
built  of  bricks,  which  served  the  double  purpose 
of  bed  and  seat.  There  the  poor  galley-slaves  were 
formerly  kept.  This,  however,  was  before  my  time. 
When  we  reached  the  end  of  this  corridor  we  came 
to  another  vault-like  door,  which  when  opened  per- 
mitted a  volume  of  damp,  chilly  air  to  come  out, 
laden  with  such  an  awful  stench  that  it  was  almost 
overpowering.  The  guard  hung  the  lantern  on  a 
nail  by  the  door.  By  the  light  of  it  I  could  see 
the  interior  and  knew  at  once  that  it  was  the  dreaded 


86  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

dungeon  Notte  d'Inferno.     From  tlie  ceiling"  dirty 
water  was  dripping  down  and  on  the  walls  there 
seemed  to  be   a  brownish  moss  of  a  damp  and 
slimy  appearance.    The  floor,  which  looked  smooth 
and  greasy,  was  covered  with  a  greenish  water  and, 
to  my  great  dismay,  I  saw  what  I  thought  to  be 
black  snakes  creeping  over  it.     As  I  stood  upon 
the  entrance  of  that  horrible  place,  I  shuddered  as 
if  with  a  chill.     I  turned  around  to  flee  from  the 
place,  but  the  guard  seized  hold  of  me,  and  pushed 
me  into  the  cell.     The  instant  my  feet  touched  the 
wet  floor  down  I  went,  but  as  I  fell,  I  threw  my 
arms  around  his  legs  and  caused  him  to  fall  over 
me,  and  we  lay  at  full  length  in  the  centre  of  the 
cell.     The  guard  quickly  regained  his  feet,  and  as 
he  took  his  place  at  the  entrance  of  the  cell  he  was 
a  sight  to  behold,  for  his  uniform  was  covered  with 
greenish,  greasy  slime.     In  an  instant  I  was  upon 
my   knees   and   with   the   strength   of   desperation 
seized  hold  of  the  guard's  coat  and  clung  to  it.    He 
tried  to  free  himself,  but  could  not.    Then  I  begged 
the  man  to  kill  me,  for  death  would  have  been  a 
blessing  compared  with  being  shut  up  in  that  loath-  ^ 
some  and  horrible  place.     I  feared  that  he  would 
kill   me,   but   he   was   good-natured,    for   he   said 
that  he  was  very  sorry  for  what  had  happened,  but 
that  It  was  not  his  fault,  as  he  had  received  an  order 
from  the  custode  to  have  me  stand  inside  of  the 
dungeon  for  a  moment,  that  the  law  might  be  ful- 
filled; since  every  galley-slave,  good  or  bad,  must 


"VA  IN  GALERA!"  87 

go  into  it,  and  pass  a  full  night  and  day  there.  I 
suppose  the  custode  did  this  so  that  if  the  higher 
authority  should  ask  him  if  I  had  been  in  the  cell, 
he  could  answer  "  yes."  The  guard  then  closed  the 
door  of  that  hideous  dungeon  and  we  returned  to 
the  Gabbia  del  Diavolo. 

All  penal  institutions  in  Italy  go  now  under  the 
sweet  name  of  "  Bagni  penali," — baths  of  punish- 
ment,— I  suppose  so  called  in  honour  of  that  hideous 
dungeon,  "  Night  of  Hell,"  in  which  the  poor  galley- 
slaves  of  my  day  were  compelled  to  take  a  bath  of 
twenty- four  hours'  duration. 

I  had  been  in  the  Galera  nearly  six  months,  hav- 
ing nothing  to  do  but  eat  my  rye  bread  and  drink 
the  water  given  me.  Yet  I  had  grown  to  be  quite 
strong  and  robust.  I  used  to  walk  up  and  down 
that  large  room  for  hours,  often  singing  to  pass 
the  time,  for  my  voice  had  become  strong  and 
sweet,  and  the  galley-slaves  were  delighted  with  it. 
The  soldiers  would  stop  pacing  their  beat  to  listen 
to  my  songs.  I  was  called  by  my  fellow-prisoners, 
"  II  rosignuolo  nella  Gabbia  del  Diavolo "  (the 
nightingale  in  the  devil's  cage).  My  singing  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  Fra  Cipolla  (Brother 
Onion).  He  was  thus  named  because  he  was  so 
fat  that  his  double  chin  gave  the  head  the  appear- 
ance of  a  round,  flat  onion.  He  belonged  to  the 
Carmelite  order.  These  monks  wore  a  gown  of 
cream-white  wool.  This  particular  frate  came  to 
see  me  one  day,  and  asked  if  I  would  not  on  the 


88  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

coming  Sunday  sing  from  the  gallery  at  mass  the 
beautiful  melody  of  "  Santa  Maria."  It  was 
arranged  that  before  the  elevation  of  the  Host  I 
should  sing.  Fra  Cipolla  was  the  chaplain  of  the 
Galera,  so  that  he  was  well  known  among  the 
galeotti. 

In  connection  with  the  Galera  there  was  a  beauti- 
ful church.  The  audience  room  was  very  large, 
and  located  on  the  ground  floor.  This  part  was 
open  to  all  who  lived  outside  the  Galera,  and  at 
high  mass  it  was  crowded  with  worshippers.  There 
was  a  gallery  on  three  sides  of  the  building,  elevated 
about  twenty  feet  from  the  floor.  At  the  edge  of 
the  gallery  were  iron  bars  which  reached  to  the 
ceiling  of  the  church.  These  bars  were  far  enough 
apart  so  that,  if  one's  head  was  not  large,  it  could 
slip  through  them  from  behind  and  one  could  view 
the  people  below.    We  all  stood  during  the  service. 

In  the  middle  of  the  wall  at  the  end  of  the 
church  there  was  a  beautiful  altar  of  solid  marble, 
and  upon  this  was  a  full-sized  statue  of  the  Virgin 
Mary  with  the  infant  Jesus  in  her  arms.  This 
statue  was  surrounded  by  a  multitude  of  candles 
which  when  lighted  produced  an  enchanting  effect. 
The  gallery  was  called  "  Gabbia  del  Paradiso " 
(Cage  of  Paradise).  On  each  side  of  the  altar  a  line 
of  armed  soldiers  stood  during  the  service  facing 
the  gallery.  They  were  stationed  there  to  keep 
order,  and  at  any  sign  of  violence  were  ready  to 
fire  upon  the  galley-slaves.     But  this  gallery  cage 


"  VA  IN  GALERA !  "  89 

was  a  real  heaven  compared  with  the  other  in  which 
were  passed  all  the  days  of  the  week. 

Fra  Cipolla  was  a  good  man,  but  he  was  so  un- 
clean! He  was  a  slave  to  the  habit  of  snuff-taking. 
Some  of  the  snuff  would  fall  upon  his  cream-white 
gown,  giving  him  a  very  slovenly  appearance.  I 
have  seen  him  at  times  stop  in  the  midst  of  the 
service,  take  out  his  snuff-box  and  extract  from  it 
a  pinch  of  the  snuff,  making  so  great  a  noise  when 
he  sniffed  it  up  his  nose  that  he  could  be  heard  all 
over  the  building.  He  would  then  pass  the  box 
to  his  assistant  priest,  who  would  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  his  senior,  and  then  both  go  on  with  the 
service.  There  was  another  monk,  who  belonged 
to  the  same  order,  whose  duty  it  was  to  visit  the 
galeotti.  He  was  also  of  unclean  appearance  on 
account  of  the  nasty  snuff-taking  habit,  and  was 
called  by  the  galley-slaves,  "  Fra  Sonnacchioso " 
(the  sleeping  monk).  Like  many  others  of  his 
brethren  he  was  quite  fat  and  could  not  resist  for 
any  length  of  time  the  desire  to  slumber.  Even 
while  one  was  talking  with  him  he  would  often 
fall  asleep.  In  the  church  he  sat  directly  under 
the  edge  of  the  gallery.  Being  in  a  plumb  line  with 
it,  his  drowsy  head  would  rest  on  the  back  of  his 
seat  with  face  upturned  and  mouth  wide  open,  and 
oh,  how  he  snored !  That  sonorous  sound,  like  a 
deep  bass  voice,  could  be  heard  throughout  the 
church. 

An    amusing    thing    happened    during    one    of 


90  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

the  Sunday  morning  services.  Fra  Sonnacchioso 
had  fallen  into  a  deep  slumber,  and  was  snoring  at 
a  furious  rate.  As  I  took  my  place  at  the  end  of 
the  gallery  nearest  the  altar,  my  attention  was 
drawn  to  a  sailor  who  had  recently  been  placed  in 
the  Galera  for  committing  a  revolting  crime. 
The  night  before  he  had  spent  in  the  Notte  d'ln- 
ferno,  but  he  seemed  none  the  worse  for  having 
passed  twenty-four  hours  in  that  fearful  hole.  He 
was  a  man  whom  nothing  seemed  to  frighten.  On 
that  Sunday  morning  he  had  taken  his  place  at  the 
very  edge  of  the  gallery,  and,  as  he  was  rather  slight, 
he  easily  slipped  his  head  between  the  bars  while 
the  priest  at  the  altar  was  saying  mass.  I  noticed 
that  the  sailor  was  intently  watching  Fra  Son- 
nacchioso, who  was  directly  below  him.  From  the 
mischievous  expression  on  the  sailor's  face  it  was 
evident  that  some  funny  prank  had  occurred  to  him. 
I  saw  he  was  chewing  tobacco  at  a  furious  rate, 
his  eyes  still  upon  the  sleeping  form  of  the 
monk.  By  and  by  he  put  his  fingers  into 
his  mouth,  drew  out  some  of  the  well-chewed 
tobacco,  and  made  of  it  a  small  ball.  Then  holding 
this  between  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand,  and  clos- 
ing one  of  his  eyes  he  carefully  took  aim.  He  fixed 
his  hand  in  line  above  the  sleeping  face  of  Fra 
Sonnacchioso  and  assured  himself  that  it  was  in 
exact  line  with  the  opened  mouth;  then  he  let  fall 
the  little  ball  of  tobacco,  and  it  lodged  in  the  ex- 
posed throat.    The  monk,  even  before  he  could  open 


"VA  IN  GALERA!"  91 

his  eyes,  jumped  to  his  feet,  coughed  with  a  strong 
spasm  which  forced  the  ball  out  of  his  mouth  with 
violence.  Instantly  his  fingers  went  into  his  mouth 
and  finding  nothing  there  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  devil  had  entered  into  him;  for  in  a  dazed 
manner  he  cried  out,  "  The  devil  has  jumped  into 
my  mouth,  and  has  entered  into  my  body !  "  Saying 
this  he  ran  out  of  the  church,  knocking  down  the 
people  who  were  in  his  way,  and  quickly  disap- 
peared. We  never  saw  him  again.  He  may  have 
died  from  fright.  There  was  great  confusion  in 
the  church.  The  priest  turned  toward  the  congre- 
gation, not  knowing  v/hat  had  happened.  The  sol- 
diers had  their  guns  levelled  at  the  gallery,  await- 
ing their  commander's  order  to  fire.  But  he  was 
laughing  heartily,  for  he  had  seen  all.  Order  was 
soon  restored,  and  the  priest  went  on  with  the 
service.  Next  morning  the  poor  sailor  was  taken 
from  the  cage  in  irons,  and  was  led  away  to  be 
punished. 

The  Sunday  came  when  for  the  first  time  I  was 
to  appear  before  an  audience  as  a  singer.  On  that 
morning  I  cleaned  myself  as  well  as  I  could.  I 
brushed  my  black  and  yellow  striped  suit,  using 
my  hand  as  a  brush,  and  the  striped  garment  looked 
a  little  brighter.  My  allowance  of  w^ater  was  used 
up  in  giving  myself  a  partial  ablution.  One  of  my 
fellow-prisoners  had  a  piece  of  cheese-cloth,  and 
when  I  asked  him  for  a  bit  of  it  he  gave  me  all. 
I  made  of  it  what  I  thought  a  nice  necktie,  and  put 


92  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

it  around  my  neck  in  place  of  a  collar.  It  did  some- 
what improve  my  appearance,  and,  as  it  was  white, 
I  must  have  looked  a  trifle  like  a  parson.  I  took 
my  place  in  the  gallery  of  the  church,  and  waited 
for  the  great  moment  to  come.  ]\Iy  place  was  at 
the  very  end  of  the  gallery,  and  when  Fra  Cipolla 
gave  the  signal  I  came  out  from  behind  the  bars 
with  one  hand  holding  firmly  to  them.  Making  a 
polite  bow  to  the  congregation,  I  opened  my  mouth, 
my  voice  came  out  clear  and  sweet,  and  I  sang 
the  "  Santa  Maria  "  with  much  feeling.  It  made  a 
lively  impression.  The  people  seemed  to  hold  their 
breath,  striving  not  to  miss  a  single  note  or  word. 
There  is  a  refrain  at  the  end  of  each  verse  which 
runs  thus : 

"  Mother  of  Jesus,  Mother  of  Jesus,  pray  for  me." 

When  I  sang  this  after  the  last  verse,  I  lowered 
my  voice  until  it  was  little  louder  than  a  whisper. 
I  knelt  down,  spread  out  my  hands  in  the  attitude 
of  prayer,  and  put  into  these  expressive  words  all 
the  feeling  of  my  soul,  at  the  same  time  retaining 
the  simplicity  of  a  child.  The  effect  was  wonderful. 
There  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  congregation.  Fra 
Cipolla  had  to  resort  to  his  snuff-box  to  keep  his 
dignity.  When  I  finished  there  was  a  kind  of 
repressed  murmur  of  approval.  I  had  made  a  real 
hit.  But  it  was  a  bad  one  for  Fra  Cipolla,  as  well 
as  for  myself.     It  was  reported  to  the  Superior  of 


"VA  IN  GALERA!"  93 

the  order  of  Carmelites  that  a  galeotto  had  been 
permitted  to  sing  at  high  mass,  and,  moreover,  one 
who  had  taken  part  in  the  revolution  of  1849. 
Fra  Cipolla  was  summoned  before  this  high  official 
and  severely  reproved.  He  was  told  that  he  had 
brought  disgrace  upon  the  order  as  well  as  upon 
himself. 

"  I  shall  have  to  punish  you  severely,"  said  the 
functionary. 

"  Father,"  pleaded  Fra  Cipolla  with  deep  humil- 
ity, "  I  implore  your  forgiveness.  I  meant  no 
wrong." 

"  No  wrong,"  exclaimed  the  father,  "  no  wrong, 
when  you  elevated  a  rebel  to  such  honour  in  the 
service  of  our  Holy  Church,  one  who  took  part  in 
driving  into  exile  our  Holy  Father,  the  Pope !  Had 
this  galeotto  committed  murder,  it  would  not  have 
been  half  so  bad  as  lifting  his  hand  against  the 
head  of  Holy  Church,  which  is  the  worst  crime  a 
desperate  soul  can  commit." 

"  But,  your  reverence,  this  galley-slave  is  but  a 
mere  youth,  I  might  say  a  bambino.  He  was  too 
young  to  realize  what  he  was  doing  when  he  enlisted 
with  Garibaldi " 

"  Stop,  stop ! "  roared  the  now  enraged  father, 
"  I  believe  you  are  a  rebel  yourself.  You  take  upon 
your  lips  the  name  of  a  man  whom  the  Church  re- 
gards as  anti-Christ.  You  have  committed  an 
abominable  sin  by  speaking  that  name,  and  I  will 
have  to  inflict  upon  you  a  heavy  penance." 


94  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

"  Your  reverence,"  said  the  monk,  *'  I  was  not 
pleading  for  myself.  You  may  punish  me  severely 
for  my  sins;  but  the  good  done  by  that  hymn  sung 
by  the  poor  lad  will  never  be  lost.  Your  reverence, 
as  the  boy  got  upon  his  knees  and  sang  *  Dolcissima 
Maria,  Madre  di  Dio,'  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in 
the  church,  and  the  effect  upon  the  galley-slaves 
was  marked."  Then  with  real  eloquence  the  monk 
continued,  "  I  assure  your  reverence  that  the  song 
was  the  most  powerful  sermon  for  good  that  has 
been  delivered  to  those  people." 

"  I  tell  you,  monk,"  said  the  Father  Superior,  still 
enraged,  "  that  when  you  invited  that  rebel  to  sing, 
you  made  the  greatest  mistake  of  your  life.  You 
seem  to  believe  that  God  is  going  to  convert  the 
world  by  inviting  the  devil  to  do  our  work  for  us. 
I  tell  you,  that  if  we  show  mercy  and  kindness  to 
the  rebels  we  are  committing  a  great  sin,  and  thereby 
retarding  the  progress  of  Holy  Church.  Now,  leave 
my  presence!  I  dismiss  you  as  chaplain  of  the 
Galera,  and  command  you  to  go  into  retreat,  and 
there  for  six  months  do  penance  for  your  sins. 
Go !  "  and  he  dismissed  the  monk  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand.  This  was  related  to  me  by  Fra  Cipolla 
before  he  left  the  Galera. 

It  was  said  that  Count  Malsano  was  in  the  con- 
gregation and  heard  the  "  Rosignuolo  "  sing.  The 
Count  was  the  questore  of  the  city,  an  office  that 
corresponds  to  our  modern  position  of  police  com- 
missioner, but  with  somewhat  higher  authority  in  the 


"VA  IN  GALERA!"  95 

affairs  of  the  municipality,  since  all  the  penal  institu- 
tions were  under  his  care,  and  all  officials  in  these 
various  institutions  were  responsible  to  him.  The 
Count  called  to  him  the  custode  of  the  Galera  and 
asked  him  how  it  was  that  a  galeotto  was  allowed  to 
sing  at  a  public  church  service,  a  thing  which  would 
highly  displease  the  Holy  Father  at  Rome,  should 
he  hear  of  it.  The  custode  said  that  he  was  not 
aware  that  the  galeotto  was  to  sing  until  he  heard 
him  in  the  church.  "  The  chaplain  is  the  only  person 
to  blame,  for  he  invited  the  boy  to  sing." 

*' Is  he  not  a  mere  boy?"  asked  the  Count. 
"  How  did  he  happen  to  become  a  galley- 
slave?" 

"  He  was  a  drummer  boy  in  the  army  of  the  rebels 
in  '49  and  was  taken  prisoner." 

"  You  should  say,  arrested  as  an  outlaw,"  cor- 
rected the  Count. 

"  Yes,  your  honour,  arrested  as  an  outlaw,  and 
condemned  by  his  Eminency,  the  Secretary  of  State, 
to  be  a  galley-slave." 

"  And  so  young,"  put  in  the  Count  with  evident 
pity.  "If  he  had  committed  some  other  crime  it 
would  not  have  been  so  bad.  Mercy  could  have 
been  exercised  towards  the  lad ;  but  to  take  up  arms 
against  the  Holy  Father,  there  is  no  mercy  for  such 
a  crime.  Send  him  to  the  miilino  (tread-mill)  and 
do  not  let  your  chicken  heart  be  moved  by  his 
beautiful  face  and  sweet  song, — yet  I  would  have 
you  treat  the  boy  kindly." 


96  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

"  You  shall  be  fully  obeyed,"  responded  the  cus- 
tode,  and  the  two  parted. 

The  galley-slaves  were  compelled  to  do  all  kinds 
of  hard  work.  I  was  sent  to  the  tread-mill  as  a 
punishment  for  my  singing  in  church,  because  it 
was  the  hardest  labour  a  galley-slave  could  do.  But 
the  work  was  clean,  and,  being  out  on  the  sea, 
it  was  healthful.  Many  of  the  galley-slaves  were 
compelled  to  toil  in  the  sulphur  mines  near  the  city; 
many  more  were  made  to  clean  the  streets  of  the 
town;  and  others  spent  the  night  doing  a  kind  of 
labour  not  fit  to  mention.  But  no  matter  what  kind 
of  work  they  did,  they  were  always  chained  two  by 
two,  and  watched  by  a  strong  guard  of  soldiers. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  slave's  work 

THE  life  of  any  slave  is  sad  indeed,  but  that  of 
a  galley-slave  is  doubly  so.  The  prison  was 
well  named  "  The  Devil's  Cage,"  for  such  it 
was.  Yet,  even  under  the  painful  conditions,  we 
became  resigned  and  had  at  times  some  comforts. 
Little  happenings  in  the  prison,  so  insignificant  that 
they  would  not  be  noticed  by  free  persons,  brought 
amusement  to  the  poor  galley-slaves.  When  we 
were  free  from  all  other  duties,  we  passed  the  time 
amusing  ourselves  in  any  way  that  would  bring 
some  kind  of  pleasure  with  no  one  to  interfere. 
We  had  foot-races;  we  wrestled;  we  played  leap- 
frog; sometimes  we  would  dance,  keeping  time  by 
striking  our  hands  together.  We  had  many  kinds 
of  games,  cards  excepted,  because  nobody  would 
provide  us  with  these.  The  most  common  game, 
and  one  of  great  popularity,  was  that  known  as  La 
Mora.  This  is  played  by  two  persons,  each  trying 
to  guess  the  number  of  fingers  the  other  would 
throw  out  from  the  closed  hand.  For  example, 
if  one  of  the  players  holds  out  two  fingers,  and  the 
other  three,  the  one  who  says  "  five  "  has  won  a 

97 


98  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

point.  The  one  who  first  attains  a  certain  total 
wins  the  game.  The  fingers  of  both  players  must 
be  thrown  out  simultaneously  and  the  number  called 
at  the  same  instant.  If  both  the  players  guess  the 
right  number,  it  does  not  count  for  either.  La 
Mora  players  must  play  very  carefully,  and  give 
their  undivided  attention  to  watching  each  other's 
hand,  for  when  the  movement  is  made  the  players 
have  to  speak  the  number  before  the  fingers  are 
fully  seen. 

A  very  interesting  and  useful  way  in  which  we 
passed  part  of  our  time  was  that  called  impro- 
visatori.  Two  persons  agree  to  improvise  on  any 
subject  selected,  to  see  which  of  the  two  will  best 
treat  it.  The  subject  would  probably  be  the  beauties 
of  nature,  or  heaven,  or  beautiful  women,  or  great 
men.  This  improvising  is  done  in  verse  suggested 
by  the  inspiration  of  the  moment.  The  verses  are 
often  quite  good,  and  the  poetry  under  other  cir- 
cumstances might  sometimes  make  a  bid  for  excel- 
lence. This  practice  gives  an  idea  of  the  poetic 
nature  of  the  Italian  language.  It  has  been  called 
the  language  of  flowers  and  poetry,  and  the  impro- 
visatori  fully  prove  this. 

Although  our  life  was  mostly  bitter,  yet  now  and 
then  it  had  in  it  a  dash  of  the  sweet.  One  thing 
I  may  mention  was  that  there  was  no  fighting  or 
disorder  among  the  galley-slaves;  not  because  they 
were  especially  good,  but  because,  whenever  the 
guards  would  see  the  slightest  tendency  towards 


THE  SLAVE'S  WORK  99 

disorder,  they  would  cry  out  "  La  Notte  d'Inferno !  " 
and  order  would  be  quickly  restored. 

The  day  after  the  Count  had  this  conversation 
with  the  custode  of  La  Galera,  sixteen  prisoners, 
of  whom  I  was  one,  were  taken  out  of  the  prison 
early  in  the  morning,  and  led  from  the  Gabbia  del 
Diavolo  to  the  street.  We  were  accompanied  by  a 
strong  guard  and  were  told  to  march  along  a  nar- 
row street  outside  the  prison  wall.  We  were  going 
in  a  westerly  direction,  and,  as  we  got  almost  to 
the  west  end  of  the  prison,  I  happened  to  look  up 
and,  at  an  open  window  on  the  third  floor,  I  saw 
a  picture  which  I  have  never  forgotten.  It  was  that 
of  a  girl  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  as  beautiful 
as  a  Madonna.  Her  hair  was  golden,  her  eyes 
were  blue  as  the  sky  above,  her  head  was  perfectly 
shaped.  Pier  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  were  jet 
black,  shading  the  deep  blue  eyes  with  an  expression 
of  sympathy  and  tenderness  which  was  irresistible. 
Her  nose  and  chin  were  so  perfect  that  they  might 
have  been  formed  by  an  artist's  hand.  Her  lips 
were  as  red  as  the  roses  called  "  American  Beauties," 
and  curved  with  an  alluring  smile  which  had  a 
power  of  attraction  not  to  be  resisted.  Her  neck 
was  rather  long,  but  broadened  down  to  her  shoul- 
ders in  perfect  symmetry,  which  in  whiteness  cor- 
responded to  that  of  her  lovely  face.  I  was  so 
carried  away  with  the  beauty  of  the  picture  that  I 
acted  like  a  person  dreaming,  until  one  of  the  guards 
gave  me  a  punch  in  the  ribs  that  brought  me  back 


loo  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

to  the  realities  of  the  place,  and  I  was  reminded 
that  I  must  not  dream,  but  walk.  As  we  marched 
I  tried  to  recollect  where  I  had  seen  this  beautiful 
girl  before.  It  flashed  upon  my  mind  that  I  had 
seen  her  in  the  church  the  morning  I  sang.  I  now 
remembered  that  she  sat  near  the  custode,  and, 
therefore,  I  supposed  she  was  his  daughter.  As  we 
marched  along  the  narrow,  tortuous  streets  I  seemed 
to  attract  attention,  for  I  would  hear  the  people 
say,  "  What !  that  boy,  so  young  and  so  small,  a 
galeotto!  He  must  have  committed  some  great 
crime,  and  yet  he  does  not  look  like  a  criminal.  He 
seems  harmless,  poverino !  " 

We  soon  arrived  at  a  point  where  a  street 
branched  from  Via  Toscana,  which  was  on  the  ridge 
of  a  hill.  The  street  which  branched  off  was  Via 
Marina,  going  in  the  same  direction  but  down  tlie 
hill.  Both  streets  ran  in  a  westerly  direction.  On 
the  south  side  of  Via  Toscana,  and  along  the  hill, 
there  was  a  stone  wall  about  three  feet  high,  which 
served  as  a  parapet,  on  which  I  saw  many  people 
sitting  and  looking  at  the  galley-slaves  in  the  street 
below.  About  two  hundred  yards  from  the  place 
where  the  two  streets  diverged  was  a  stone  stair, 
which  led  from  Via  Marina  up  to  Via  Toscana.  I 
mention  this,  for  we  shall  have  to  refer  to  it  farther 
on  in  the  story. 

Via  Marina  led  to  the  seaport  of  Civita  Vecchia. 
Having  arrived  at  the  end  of  this  street,  we  came 
to  a  small  wharf.     There  we  were  put  on  small 


THE  SLAVE'S  WORK  loi 

flat-boats  and  rowed  to  the  entrance  of  the  port. 
This  was  a  narrow  neck  of  water  through  which 
all  vessels  that  came  into  the  harbour  would  have 
to  pass.  There  seemed  to  be  at  this  point  a  strong 
under-current  which  caused  the  sand  to  accumulate 
so  much  as  to  make  the  entrance  difficult  to  navigate. 
It  was,  therefore,  necessary  to  keep  the  dredging 
machine  constantly  busy  at  this  entrance  in  order  to 
render  it  navigable.  These  dredging  machines  were 
operated  by  tread-mills.  There  were  two  of  these 
dredgers  in  the  port. 

The  tread-mill  was  a  round  wheel  some  fifty  feet 
in  circumference  and  eight  feet  wide.  This  wheel 
was  encased  with  iron  bars,  making  it  like  a  cage. 
On  the  inside  was  a  curving  stairway  with  steps  all 
around  the  inner  circumference.  This  wheel  was 
on  a  large  flat-boat,  and  on  each  side  of  the  boat 
and  in  the  middle  were  two  large  upright  supports 
with  sockets  on  their  upper  ends.  Between 
these  iron  supports,  with  an  end  fastened  in 
each  socket,  extended  a  large  iron  rod,  and 
this  passed  through  the  centre  of  the  wheel. 
Close  to  the  flat-boat  on  which  the  tread-mill  stood, 
was  the  dredging  machine,  and  this  was  surrounded 
by  small  flat-boats.  Fastened  to  the  machine  was 
a  long  and  strong  iron  chain,  and  to  this  chain  a 
large  scoop  shovel.  Sixteen  of  the  galley-slaves 
were  put  into  the  tread-mill  wheel,  four  abreast  but 
each  separated  from  the  others  by  an  iron  rod  which 
extended  around  the  wheel.     When  we  were  inside 


102  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

the  wheel  our  first  duty  was  to  watch  the  shovel 
go  down  into  the  water,  and,  as  soon  as  we  saw 
that  it  touched  bottom,  to  start  the  wheel  which 
wound  up  the  chain  and  brought  the  shovel  to  the 
surface.  This  was  accomplished  by  our  stepping 
down  with  all  our  might  on  the  stair-like  arrange- 
ment inside  the  wheel,  and  continuing  the  movement 
as  if  walking  rapidly  upstairs.  As  the  shovel  went 
into  the  sand  or  other  substance  at  the  bottom  of 
the  channel,  it  was  only  with  a  great  effort  that 
the  wheel  was  made  to  revolve,  and,  in  order  to 
do  this,  we  had  to  use  not  only  the  weight  of  our 
body,  but  also  the  strength  of  our  hands.  We 
grasped  the  iron  rod  and  pulled  until  every  muscle 
was  strained  to  the  utmost.  We  would  keep  re- 
volving the  wheel  until  the  dredging  shovel  was 
raised  out  of  the  water  and  swung  over  the  flat- 
boats,  into  which  its  contents  were  dumped.  Then 
we  were  commanded  to  stop  the  wheel.  We  re- 
mained still  until  the  shovel  was  emptied  and  re- 
turned to  the  bottom,  when  we  would  again  start 
the  wheel.  In  this  way,  we  spent  the  day  climbing 
an  interminable  stairway.  So  exhausting  was  the 
labour  that  at  night  we  were  more  dead  than  alive. 
In  fact,  the  first  day  at  noon,  when  we  had  an 
hour  to  rest  and  eat  our  black  bread  and  drink  our 
water,  I  dropped  down  exhausted. 

Outside  of  the  wheel  were  stationed  cruel 
guards,  each  one  having  a  long  stick  with  a 
sharp     point     at     its     end.       When     the     wheel 


THE  SLAVE'S  WORK  103 

started  again,  the  motion  made  me  sick,  and, 
because  I  could  not  .move  fast  enough,  I  was 
prodded  on  the  shoulders  by  the  merciless  slave- 
driver  with  the  sharp  stick  so  that  it  made 
the  blood  flow.  My  companions  in  the  wheel,  see- 
ing this,  uttered  hard  words  against  him,  saying 
that  he  was  an  assassin,  and  that  the  devil  was  a 
saint  compared  to  him,  but  he  struck  at  those  who 
befriended  me.  I  did  not  cry  audibly,  but  the  tears 
ran  down  my  cheeks  thick  and  fast.  That  wheel 
was  baptized  "  the  cage  of  tears."  God  only  knows 
our  misery.  It  is  said  that  He  will  put  our  tears 
into  His  bottles,  but  if  all  the  tears  shed  by  the  poor 
galley-slaves  while  in  that  awful  tread-mill  were 
put  into  a  bottle,  it  would  have  to  be  a  large  one. 
My  sufferings  were  so  great  that  I  was  led  to 
believe  there  was  no  mercy  in  the  natural  man,  but 
that  he  is  always  cruel.  Since  I  have  been  per- 
mitted to  enjoy  the  sweet  comforts  of  the  Christian 
religion,  I  am  confirmed  in  this  belief.  Look  at 
our  Saviour  in  the  judgment  hall  and  on  the  cross. 
What  insults,  what  cruelty,  what  undeserved  suffer- 
ings were  meted  out  to  Him,  and  by  those  whom 
He  had  come  only  to  benefit  and  save!  H  the 
Saviour  was  thus  treated.  He  who  was  pure  and 
holy,  how  is  it  possible  for  sinful  men  to  treat  mer- 
cifully those  whom  they  look  upon  as  criminals  and 
outlaws,  when  the  real  criminal  sits  on  the  throne? 
At  night  we  were  taken  back  to  the  Gabbia  del 
Diavolo.     I  must  have  looked  pale  and  exhausted, 


I04  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

for  many  on  the  street  gazed  at  me  pitifully.  I 
was  so  down-hearted  that  I  forgot  about  the  beauti- 
ful vision  I  had  seen  that  morning.  My  fellow- 
prisoners  gathered  around  me,  expressed  their  sym- 
pathy and  tried  to  encourage  me,  urging  me  to  keep 
up  a  good  heart.  The  custode  came  to  the  cage 
and  looked  me  over  very  carefully,  but  said  nothing 
and  then  went  away. 

I  soon  sought  my  blanket  and  lay  down,  but 
could  sleep  very  little  as  I  was  feverish  and  rest- 
less. 

The  next  morning  I  was  told  I  should  not  be 
taken  to  the  cage  of  tears  that  day,  but  only  every 
other  day  until  I  became  accustomed  to  it.  I  found 
later  that  we  were  not  kept  at  this  dredging  work 
in  the  tread-mill  continually,  but  that  the  work  de- 
pended upon  the  accumulation  of  the  sand;  and  so 
it  was  that  occasionally  for  a  whole  month  we  were 
not  required  to  operate  the  tread-mill.  After  I  be- 
came accustomed  to  the  work,  it  was  more  bearable, 
and  I  found  some  compensation  in  enjoying  the 
pure  air  of  the  sea.  The  unpleasant  part  of  it  was 
the  extreme  cruelty  of  the  drivers.  Our  work  was 
going  upstairs  from  morning  until  night  under 
their  merciless  prodding. 

The  next  day  I  felt  much  better,  and  went  with 
the  rest  to  the  cage  of  tears.  As  we  marched  along 
I  noticed  one  thing  that  gave  me  much  pleasure. 
I  was  not  chained  to  any  one  else,  and  my  hands 
were  free  from  bonds.    I  was  put  at  the  head  of  the 


THE  SLAVE'S  WORK  105 

gang,  probably  that  the  guards  might  keep  their 
eyes  on  me.  As  we  passed  by  the  west  end  of  the 
prison  I  looked  up  at  the  same  window,  but  there 
was  no  one  there,  and  I  was  sadly  disappointed. 
We  had  to  perform  the  same  routine  of  work  day 
after  day,  year  after  year,  only  that  instead  of  being 
rowed  to  the  tread-mill  by  the  guards,  we  had  to 
row  them.  The  tread-mill  was  not  protected  from 
the  weather.  Sometimes  the  intense  rays  of  the  sun 
shone  directly  upon  us,  so  that  the  heat  was  most 
distressing;  and  then  when  it  rained  we  were 
drenched.  But  the  rain  always  proved  a  blessing, 
for  that  was  the  only  way  in  which  we  could  have  a 
bath.  In  the  winter  we  suffered  greatly  from  the 
cold  winds.  At  times  the  sea  would  become  very 
rough,  and  the  rocking  of  the  wheel  would  make  us 
seasick. 

Thus  I  passed  my  first  week  in  the  cage  of  tears. 
On  Sunday  I  attended  mass  as  usual,  and  looked 
for  the  angel  face  I  had  seen  at  the  window;  but 
it  was  not  there.  The  custode  was  present,  and 
by  his  side  sat  a  young  lady  much  older  than  the 
one  I  had  seen  from  the  street.  Yet  she  strongly 
resembled  my  ideal  of  a  beautiful  girl,  with  the  ex- 
ception that  while  she  was  pale  the  girl  at  the  win- 
dow had  rosy  cheeks.  There  was  also  a  difference 
in  the  expression  on  their  faces.  I  concluded,  how- 
ever, that  they  must  be  sisters. 

On  the  14th  of  July  occurred  one  of  the  greatest 
of  feast  days,  that  of  the  anniversary  of  St.  Vincent 


io6  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

de  Paul,  who  was  the  patron  saint  of  the  galeotti, 
for  the  saint  himself  had  been  a  galley-slave  in 
the  sixteenth  century.  After  he  obtained  his  free- 
dom from  that  life  of  intolerable  sufferings,  he  de- 
voted himself  to  improving  the  condition  of  galley- 
slaves  by  mission  work.  Through  the  influence  of 
St.  Vincent  and  his  missionaries,  many  reforms 
were  brought  about  in  the  treatment  of  these  un- 
fortunate beings.  Yet  in  reading  the  life  of  this 
great  and  good  man,  and  comparing  the  condition 
of  galley-slaves  in  his  time  with  that  of  my  time, 
I  found  that  the  sufferings  and  cruelties  we  were 
called  upon  to  endure  were  just  as  extreme  as  then. 
The  lasting  good  that  St.  Vincent  accomplished  was 
in  the  way  of  better  food  and  greater  care  in  case 
of  sickness,  for  we  had  hospital  treatment  and 
visits  from  the  missionaries. 

On  this  gala  day  we  were  taken  to  the  church, 
placed  in  the  gallery  of  course,  and  an  address  was 
delivered  to  us  by  some  great  person  on  the  life  of 
the  saint.  On  this  occasion  Count  Malsano  was 
the  speaker.  There  was  music  furnished  by  the 
band,  and  other  interesting  exercises,  all  for  the 
benefit  of  the  galeotti.  The  exercises  were  carried 
on  in  the  body  of  the  church  below  the  gallery. 
The  custode  requested  that  I  should  sing  the  song 
which  I  had  sung  many  times  before,  "  Rondinella 
pellegrina  "  (The  Pilgrim  Swallow),  a  song  which 
describes  the  loneliness  of  a  forsaken  swallow,  with- 
out home  or  resting-place.     A  very  touching  song 


THE  SLAVE'S  WORK  107 

it  was,  which  only  a  galley-slave  could  sing  with 
fitting  expression. 

After  the  exercises  we  had  a  dinner  in  the  Gabbia 
del  Diavolo.  This  grand  repast  we  had  but  once 
a  year,  on  this  special  festival.  It  consisted  of 
bean  soup  made  with  sea  water,  I  suppose  to  save 
salt;  also  two  ounces  of  corned  beef,  cabbages  with 
olive  oil,  black  bread  and  plenty  of  water  to  wash 
it  down. 

The  great  day,  the  14th  of  July,  came,  and  at 
ten  o'clock  we  were  led  to  the  gallery  to  hear  mass 
celebrated  by  our  new  chaplain,  after  which  we  re- 
turned to  the  Gabbia.  Four  o'clock  struck.  The 
church  was  crowded  with  citizens  who  came  to 
hear  the  questore.  In  front  of  the  altar  a  platform 
had  been  erected  for  the  speaker.  The  usual  line 
of  armed  soldiers  was  stationed  in  the  church.  On 
one  side  of  the  platform  was  the  band,  which  played 
several  selections  before  the  address  was  delivered. 
Count  Malsano  mounted  the  platform,  and  gave 
a  fine  address.  Before  he  concluded,  he  said, 
"  Now  we  will  have  a  song  from  the  boy  called  '  II 
Rosignuolo,'  "  and  then  sat  down. 

I  came  forward  to  a  place  between  two  of  the 
iron  bars  of  the  *'  Heavenly  Cage,"  made  a  bow,  and 
sang  as  I  had  never  sung  before.  The  impression 
the  song  made  was  marked.  One  could  have  heard 
a  pin  drop.  I  looked  around  to  see  if  my  idol 
was  there.  I  saw  the  custode  with  his  wife  and 
daughter,   but  she  was  not  to  be  seen.    Alas!  I 


io8  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

wanted  so  much  that  she  should  hear  me  sing. 
However,  I  was  delighted  to  see  the  mother,  for 
she  was  the  mature  picture  of  the  girl  I  had  seen 
at  the  window.  The  band  played  again,  and  we 
returned  to  the  Gabbia  del  Diavolo.  It  was  indeed 
a  joyous  day  for  us,  and  after  dinner  we  had  various 
games  and  sang  familiar  songs.  The  custode  came 
to  see  me.  He  said  that  his  little  girl,  Olina,  wanted 
to  thank  me  for  that  beautiful  song  in  the  church. 
"His  little  girl!"  It  could  not  be  the  one  I  had 
seen  at  church,  for  she  was  a  young  lady.  Certainly 
he  would  not  call  her  his  hambina!  Who  then  could 
Olina  be?  I  thought  of  her  and  had  hef"  name  on 
my  lips  as  I  fell  asleep  that  night. 

Next  morning,  on  our  way  to  the  tread-mill, 
when  I  looked  up  at  the  window,  I  felt  as  if  my 
heart  would  leap  out  of  my  throat,  for  there  at 
the  same  window  was  that  dear,  sweet  girl.  I 
thought  she  seemed  a  trifle  paler  than  she  did  the 
first  time  I  saw  her  beautiful  face.  I  could  see  only 
the  upper  part  of  her  figure.  She  appeared  to  be 
seated  upon  something,  but  what  it  was  I  could  not 
see.  As  our  eyes  met  I  felt  that  my  cheeks  were 
afire.  I  must  have  blushed  to  my  ears.  I  saw,  too, 
a  little  tinge  of  red  creeping  over  her  face  and  she 
quickly  lowered  her  eyes,  but  she  looked  at  me 
again,  and  this  time  we  smiled  at  each  other.  Then 
she  drew  away  from  the  window,  and  I  went  on 
my  way  with  my  heart  beating  so  fast  and  so  loud 
that  I  felt  the  guard  at  my  side  must  surely  hear 


THE  SLAVE'S  WORK  109 

it.  What  was  it  that  made  me  feel  so?  I  could 
not  understand  the  new  sensation  which  had  come 
over  me.  But  one  thing  I  knew  and  was  certain  of. 
There  was  some  one  who  thought  of  me.  There 
was  a  heart  beating  in  unison  with  mine.  How 
happy  that  thought  made  me! 

About  four  o'clock  that  afternoon,  we  had  a  fear- 
ful squall  from  the  sea  which  almost  wrecked  our 
wheel,  and  we  were  in  great  danger  of  being  thrown 
into  the  water,  wheel  and  all.  The  storm  lasted 
about  an  hour,  during  which  time  we  were  tossed 
violently  about.  One  of  the  dredging  macliines  was 
a  total  wreck,  some  of  the  flat-boats  were  badly 
damaged,  and  others  completely  demolished.  But 
finally  we  were  taken  from  our  perilous  situation 
and  escorted  back  to  the  Galera.  For  several  weeks 
after  the  storm,  we  were  not  compelled  to  go  to 
the  mulino. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


OLINA 


CIVITA  VECCHIA  is  a  strongly  fortified 
town  of  twelve  thousand  inhabitants.  It  is 
a  walled  city,  but  the  walls  are  so  poor  that 
even  a  small  cannon  could  send  a  ball  through  them. 
Its  main  strength  is  in  its  citadel,  which  is  a  real 
fort,  designed  and  built  by  Michael  Angelo.  It 
guards  the  entrance  of  the  port  and  has  a  sweeping 
command  of  the  city.  At  the  time  of  our  story  it 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  French  soldiers.  Near  the 
harbour  is  a  lighthouse,  also  the  work  of  the  great 
artist.  The  original  name  of  Civita  Vecchia  was 
Cento  Celle  (one  hundred  hills).  There  were  along 
the  shores  a  hundred  hills  which  were  in  the  form 
of  cells,  hence  the  name. 

The  name  of  the  city  was  changed  to  Civita 
Vecchia  for  the  following  reason : 

The  water  supply  of  the  city  is  very  plentiful, 
but  so  impregnated  with  sulphur  that  it  has  a  pecu- 
liar effect  on  the  people.  It  gives  them  an  early 
appearance  of  old  age,  and  this  is  noted  even  in 
children.  Therefore  the  city  was  named  Civita 
Vecchia, — "  the  city  of  old  people."     So  I  was  in- 


OLINA  III 

formed,  although  the  literal  meaning  is  "  the  old 
city." 

This  place  has  had  from  time  immemorial  its 
Galera  and  its  galeotti,  the  number  of  whom  some- 
times exceeded  five  thousand.  Near  the  city  are 
mines  of  various  kinds,  the  richest  of  w^hich  are 
the  sulphur  mines;  hence  it  is  that  there  is  so  much 
sulphur  in  the  w^ater.  These  mines  are  worked  by 
the  galeotti. 

Almost  every  morning,  in  company  with  the  other 
galley-slaves,  I  trudged  along  Via  Zulfo  (Sulphur 
Street),  and,  arrived  at  the  west  end  of  the  Galera, 
would  look  up  to  the  third  floor  to  get  a  smile 
from  my  living  ideal  of  an  angel.  On  one  of  these 
mornings  as  I  gazed  up  at  the  now  familiar  window 
I  missed  the  face  I  had  so  often  seen  there;  but, 
as  I  looked  again,  there  at  the  very  same  window 
was  the  most  beautiful  picture  I  had  ever  beheld. 
It  was  the  same  dear  girl  dressed  in  a  white  robe. 
Her  golden  hair  hung  loose  over  her  perfect  neck, 
and  as  a  gentle  breeze  parted  her  hair  her  lovely 
shoulders  could  be  seen.  As  she  brushed  her  hair 
away  from  her  face,  the  bare  arms  were  exposed.  I 
was  so  charmed  that  I  forgot  to  move.  I  forgot 
that  galley-slaves  have  no  right  to  look  at  anything 
that  would  bring  pleasure,  and  of  this  I  was  re- 
minded when  I  felt  the  lash  of  the  slave-driver 
come  across  my  shoulders.  This  wrung  from  me 
such  a  sudden  scream  of  pain  that  it  made  the  sweet 
girl  at  the  window  turn  pale.     It  seems  that  she 


112  T?IE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

had  overslept  herself,  and  when  she  heard  the  tramp 
of  the  galeotti  she  had  quickly  rushed  to  the  win- 
dow as  she  was.  I  felt  the  smart  of  the  lash  all 
day  long  as  I  worked  in  the  tread-mill,  and  my 
heart  was  full  of  bitter,  vengeful  thoughts  against 
the  slave-driver.  But  I  had  occasion  to  change  the 
bitterness  into  sweetness,  for  that  very  evening  when 
1  entered  the  Galera  the  custode  detained  me  and 
said,  "  Follow  me."  We  went  up  two  flights  of 
stairs  to  the  third  floor,  and,  as  we  stood  before  a 
closed  door,  I  had  the  following  conversation  with 
my  guide. 

"  Now,"  said  the  custode,  "  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  why  I  have  brought  you  up  here,  but  I  want 
you  to  make  a  solemn  promise  that  you  will  never 
say  anything  of  it  to  any  one;  for  you  know,  my 
boy,  it  is  a  crime  to  show  kindness  to  a  galley-slave. 
I  am  exposing  myself  to  great  danger,  but  I  have 
confidence  in  you,  and  am  doing  this  for  the  sake 
of  Olina,  who  is  an  invalid." 

"  I  swear  to  you  that  not  a  living  soul  shall 
hear  a  word  from  my  lips  about  this,"  I  said 
most  earnestly.  My  sincerity  seemed  so  evi- 
dent that  the  custode  was  persuaded  to  believe 
me. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  know  what  happened  this 
morning  as  you  were  going  to  the  mulino,  how  the 
guard  struck  you  with  the  lash.  Olina  saw  it,  and 
she  has  been  so  grieved  by  the  event  that  she  has 
been  weeping  all  day.    She  feels  that  she  is  to  blame 


OLINA  113 

for  this,  and  has  requested  me  to  bring  you  to  her 
as  she  wishes  to  ask  your  forgiveness." 

"  Why,  Signor  Custode,"  I  said,  "  no  one  is  to 
blame  but  myself.  Yes,  I  alone  was  in  fault,  for 
what  right  has  a  galley-slave  to  look  into  such  a 
pure  and  beautiful  face.  I  am  the  one  to  ask  for- 
giveness." 

The  custode  opened  a  door,  and  we  entered  a  well- 
furnished  apartment,  for  a  warden  in  Italy  is  always 
a  man  of  rank.  The  mother  and  daughter  gave  me 
a  hearty  welcome.  Then  we  went  into  an  adjoining 
room,  where  the  young  girl  sat  in  an  invalid's 
chair.  She  received  me  with  a  sweet  smile,  and,  as 
I  took  her  proffered  hand,  I  said,  "  It  hurts  me 
greatly  to  hear  that  you  blame  yourself  for  what 
happened  this  morning.  The  blame  is  mine,  and 
mine  alone.    I  ask  you  to  forgive  me." 

Then  I  fell  upon  my  knees,  and  waited  for  her 
forgiveness.  Soon  I  felt  a  hand  laid  upon  my  head 
which  thrilled  me  through  and  through,  and  a  gentle 
voice  full  of  sympathy  said,  "  I  have  requested 
father  to  bring  you  here  that  I  might  ask  forgive- 
ness for  my  thoughtless  ways,  for  I  was  the  one  to 
blame." 

Without  raising  my  head,  I  cried,  "  Oh !  it  breaks 
my  heart  to  hear  you  speak  so." 

Then  the  mother  of  the  girl  said,  "  Neither  of 
you  is  to  be  blamed ;  it  so  happened.  Now,  my  dear 
children,  talk  of  something  else,  and  drive  this  un- 
fortunate affair  from  your  minds." 


114  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

"  You  have  said  well,  my  dear,"  remarked  the 
custode.  "  You  have  a  special  gift  for  getting  peo- 
ple out  of  difficulties." 

I  then  stood  up  and  saw  that  the  girl  was  now 
all  smiles  and  sunshine.  She  again  gave  me  her 
hand  and  as  I  held  it  for  a  moment,  she  said,  "  I 
know  they  call  you  the  Rosignuolo,  but  what  is 
your  real  name?  " 

*'  I  am  generally  called  Tonio,  an  abbreviation 
of  Antonio;  and  what  is  your  name?" 

"  Olina."  As  spoken  by  the  lovely  girl  the  word 
sounded  like  angelic  music. 

*'  What  a  sweet  name,"  I  said.  "  I  have  heard 
your  father  mention  it,  but  I  did  not  know  whether 
it  was  your  name  or  your  sister's." 

*'  No,  my  sister's  name  is  Mica.  Papa's  name  is, 
like  yours,  Antonio,  and  mamma's  is  like  mine, 
only  we  call  her  Lina." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  I  may  have  been  named  after 
the  custode.    Do  I  look  like  him?" 

"  I  would  not  like  to  say  that,"  replied  Olina, 
"  for  my  papa  is  a  very  handsome  man,"  which 
remark  pleased  the  custode  very  much. 

"  But  I  must  not  stay,"  I  said  in  a  tone  which 
meant  that  I  wanted  to  linger.  *'  I  see  you  are 
growing  tired,  and,  having  worried  about  the  miser- 
able affair  of  this  morning,  you  must  need  rest." 

"  Oh,  no,"  quickly  answered  the  girl,  "  I  am  not 
tired.  I  do  not  rise  from  my  seat  because  I  cannot. 
Mamma,  please  tell  Tonio  why." 


OLINA  115 

But  before  the  mother  began  to  speak,  I  ex- 
claimed, "  Oh !  how  sweetly  you  say  '  Tonio.'  It 
reminds  me  of  my  mother,  for  it  sounds  just  as  she 
used  to  speak  it." 

Her  mother  now  said,  "  After  you  sang  the  first 
time  in  the  church,  Olina  fell  downstairs,  and  seri- 
ously injured  her  hip  bone  and  spine  so  that  she 
has  not  been  able  to  walk  since  then.  We  have  done 
all  in  our  power  for  her;  we  have  had  the  most 
skilful  surgeon  from  Rome,  and  we  hope  that  she 
may  get  well  again." 

"  God  grant  that  she  may,  and  soon !  "  My  voice 
showed  how  deeply  I  sympathized  with  the  dear 
girl. 

After  a  few  more  w^ords  had  passed,  Olina  asked 
me  if  I  would  sing  before  I  left.  So  I  sang  "La 
Fiorina  "  in  a  very  soft  tone.  The  song  is  indeed 
a  sweet  one,  and  suited  the  occasion  well.  As  I 
was  about  to  leave,  Olina  asked  me  to  come  again, 
and  I  replied,  *'  I  should  be  quite  happy  if  I  could 
pass  all  my  time  with  such  good  and  dear  people. 
If  I  can  do  anything  that  will  in  any  way  bring 
comfort  to  this  sweet  child  I  am  at  your  service. 
Good-night." 

I  lay  down  that  night  thinking  of  Olina's  beauti- 
ful face,  and  I  said  to  myself,  "  Yet  with  all  her 
beauty,  her  life  is  somewhat  like  mine,  miserable 
and  hampered.  Poor  Olina!  After  all,  what  is 
human  life! " 

I  saw  Olina  quite  often  after  that.    Once  I  asked 


ii6  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

her  how  it  happened  that  she  heard  me  sing  on 
St.  Vincent's  day  when  I  knew  she  was  not  in  the 
church.  She  rephed  by  pointing  to  a  closed  door 
at  the  end  of  the  room,  saying,  "  Please  open  that 
door." 

I  did  so,  and  to  my  surprise  saw  a  small  balcony 
outside  the  door,  from  which  one  could  have  a 
view  of  the  gallery  and  of  the  interior  of  the  church. 
As  I  went  back  to  her  she  said,  "  When  papa  knew 
that  I  could  not  go  down  into  the  church  he  had 
that  door  cut  in  the  wall,  and  built  that  little  balcony 
so  that  I  could  sit  there  and  hear  mass,  and  from 
there  I  heard  you  sing.  Not  only  that  (and  she 
blushed  a  little),  but  also  look  at  you." 

Quickly  I  exclaimed,  "  Which  gave  you  the  most 
pleasure,  to  hear  me  sing,  or  to  look  at  me  ?  " 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  "  that  is  asking  too  much. 
Suppose  I  were  you  and  you  were  me,  how  would 
you  answer  that  question?" 

"  I  should  say  with  all  my  heart  to  look  at  you." 
And  then  she  said  very  softly,  "  That  is  the  way 
I  feel." 

For  six  months  I  was  an  almost  daily  visitor 
to  the  custode's  apartments.  My  visits  were  of 
much  comfort  to  Olina.  She  looked  more  cheerful, 
and  at  times  we  thought  she  was  improving.  She 
desired  greatly  to  see  me  in  citizen's  clothes. 
So  she  begged  her  father  to  bring  me  dressed  in 
ordinary  clothing.  The  custode  secured  a  suit,  and 
one  Sunday,  while  in  his  private  office,  had  me  put 


OLINA  117 

it  on.  The  clothes  looked  well  and  fitted  me  nicely. 
As  we  entered  the  apartment,  the  custode  said  to 
Olina : 

"  Daughter,  here  is  the  Rosignuolo  out  of  the 
Gabbia  del  Dia\'olo,  and  now  he  will  sing  for  you." 
When  Olina  saw  the  Rosignuolo  she  clapped 
her  hands,  full  of  merriment.  Then  she  said, 
"  The  bird  would  really  be  handsome,  papa,  if 
it  were  not  for  the  hair,  which  is  cut  after  the 
fashion  of  the  galeotti,"  and  she  gave  a  merry 
laugh. 

But  when  none  of  the  others  was  near,  she  said, 
"  Tonio,  I  wish  you  could  wear  those  clothes  always, 
for  you  are  really  good-looking  in  them." 

One  day  the  custode  received  word  that  Count 
Malsano  wanted  to  see  him.  At  this  he  felt  some- 
what uneasy  and  feared  that  in  some  way  the 
questore  might  have  heard  how  he  had  treated  the 
galley-slave  boy. 

But  as  he  entered  the  office  of  the  questore,  he 
saw  a  pleasant  smile  on  the  face  of  the  Count,  and 
this  reassured  him.  When  he  was  seated,  the  ques- 
tore said,  "  I  have  just  returned  from  Rome,  where 
I  had  a  talk  with  the  Secretary  of  State.  I  spoke 
to  him  in  reference  to  the  boy  galley-slave,  and 
told  him  how  obedient  he  is,  how  he  was  known 
all  over  the  city  on  account  of  his  sweet  voice  and 
beautiful  singing,  how  he  is  called  the  Rosignuolo, 
and  I  further  said  that  I  thought  something  ought 
to  be  done  for  the  poor  lad.     The  cardinal  replied 


ii8  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

in  a  sharp  tone,  *  I  suppose  your  request  would  be 
to  set  him  free.  I  fear,  if  that  boy  were  to  be  at 
liberty,  he  would  become  dangerous  to  both  Church 
and  State.  I  have,  dear  Count,  investigated  the 
antecedents  of  his  family,  and  I  find  that  the  boy 
at  Civita  Vecchia  is  a  cousin  of  the  Duke  of  Casa- 
nova, a  native  of  Corsica.  That  man  was  a  general 
in  the  army  of  the  despoiler  of  the  Church,  Napo- 
leon the  First.  For  bravery,  or  rather  I  should 
say  for  butchery,  Napoleon  raised  him  to  the  ducal 
rank,  and,  by  taking  possession  of  the  lands  belong- 
ing to  the  Bishop  of  Casanova,  made  him  assume 
that  title.  When  Napoleon  fell,  the  possessions 
were  restored  to  the  Church,  The  so-called  Duke 
of  Casanova  still  lives  in  Corsica.  From  the  bap- 
tismal records  of  the  galley-slave's  town  he  was 
named  after  the  Duke.  The  boy  is  bold  and  fear- 
less, and  should  be  carefully  guarded !'  This  I  got 
from  the  cardinal.  I  have  a  great  deal  of  sympathy 
for  the  lad  myself,  for  to  me  he  seems  to  be  harm- 
less, though  very  intelligent.  I  do  not  want  you  to 
put  any  severe  restraint  upon  the  lad,  but  I  beg 
of  you  to  be  wise.  Before  we  can  do  anything  for 
him  we  must  first  take  from  him  the  spirit  of  re- 
bellion. This  is  the  reason  I  sent  for  you.  Addio, 
Signor  Custode." 

For  the  past  two  months  Olina  had  become  more 
feeble,  and  her  strength  seemed  nearly  gone.  The 
family  felt  extremely  anxious.  She  was  very  thin, 
and  each  time  I  saw  her,  I  felt  that  her  time  was 


OLINA  119 

growing  short.  One  day,  as  we  were  talking,  she 
said: 

"  Tonio,  do  you  beheve  we  shall  know  each  other 
in  the  other  world?  I  am  going  there  very  soon, 
and  when  you  come,  though  it  may  be  a  long  time 
after  I  am  gone,  and  perhaps  you  may " 

"  Please  do  not  say  that,"  I  cried  with  sorrow 
overwhelming  my  heart.  "  To  forget  you,  would 
be  forgetting  myself." 

"  I  know  your  noble  spirit,"  she  replied,  "  and 
feel  that  I  shall  not  be  forgotten  by  one  who  has 
given  me  the  only  sunshine  I  have  ever  had  in  my 
life.  What  I  was  going  to  say  is  that  when  you 
come  up  into  Paradise  you  will  make  inquiry  for 
me.  Do  you  not  want  to  meet  Olina  there  before 
you  see  anybody  else  ?  " 

I  answered,  "  Is  there  any  one  else  whom  I  should 
desire  to  see  but  Olina  ?  " 

vShe  responded,  "  There  is  Jesus  who  died  for 
our  sins,  and  there  is  the  mother  of  Jesus,  the 
Holy  Madonna.  If  you  ask  them  where  I  may 
be  found,  they  will  take  you  straight  to  where  I  am. 
Oh!  I  shall  be  so  happy  to  meet  you  there,"  and 
then  she  paused  for  a  moment,  and  said,  "  Do  you 
believe  that  on  the  day  '  Di  Tutti  i  Morti '  (All 
Souls'  Day)  our  departed  friends  will  come  at  night 
to  see  us?  Fra  Cipolla,  our  chaplain,  used  to  tell 
me  when  I  was  a  little  girl  that  on  that  night  the 
dead  would  come  and  visit  their  friends;  but  he 
said  they  would  not  come  unless  we  prepared  for 


I20  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

them  some  roasted  chestnuts.  Will  you  on  All 
Soul's  Night  prepare  the  roasted  chestnuts  for  me? 
I  do  so  want  to  come  and  see  you." 

"  Oh !  dear  Olina,  you  must  not  think  of  going. 
I  will  not  let  you  go  unless  you  take  me  with  you." 

"  Yes,  oh  yes,  carino,  but  I  must  go,  for  last 
night  I  saw  La  Madonna  del  Serpente,  and  she  said 
I  must  come  to  her,  for  she  was  waiting  for  me! 
Then  I  asked  her  if  I  could  take  Tonio  along  with 
me,  and  she  said,  *  No,  he  must  bide  his  time.'  " 

Olina  talked  so  sweetly  of  heaven  that  I  felt  as 
though  an  angel  were  before  me.  The  mother  and 
the  sister,  who  listened  to  our  conversation,  were 
moved  to  tears.  Before  I  left  I  sang  in  a  very  low 
voice  "  Dolce  Speranza,"  but  my  heart  was  so  full 
of  sadness  that  I  broke  down  before  I  could  finish 
the  song. 

An  explanation,  before  we  go  any  further  in 
our  story,  concerning  the  "  Madonna  del  Serpente  " 
would  be  interesting. 

About  three  miles  east  of  Civita  Vecchia  is  a 
mountain,  in  which  is  an  immense  cave  called  "  La 
Grotta  del  Serpente."  The  people  who  lived  near 
this  mountain  were  greatly  troubled  by  a  monster 
serpent.  It  would  make  nightly  excursions  around 
the  country,  killing  poultry  and  young  pigs,  and 
doing  great  damage  to  all  kinds  of  crops  with  its 
saw-like  tail.  It  could  be  seen  at  night  from  a  long 
distance,  for  it  emitted  flames  from  its  eyes  and 
nostrils,  and  a  fearful  hissing  came  from  its  mouth. 


OLINA  121 

The  people  were  terrorized,  and  did  not  know  what 
to  do.  So  they  made  an  appeal  to  their  parish 
priest.  He  said  to  them,  "  This  is  a  punishment 
upon  you,  because  for  years  you  have  neglected  your 
paraco  (parish  priest) ;  no  eggs  or  poultry  have 
been  brought  to  me.  But  do  your  duty,  and  I  will 
pray  the  blessed  Madonna  to  destroy  this  terrible 
serpent.  Sure  enough,  the  next  night,  during  a 
terrific  storm,  as  the  people  looked  toward  the 
mountain  they  saw  flames  and  smoke  coming  from 
the  Grotta,  and  heard  explosions  like  the  firing  of 
cannon.  When  the  smoke  cleared  away,  they  saw 
the  blessed  Madonna  standing  at  the  entrance  of  the 
cave,  with  her  right  foot  on  the  crushed  head  of 
the  serpent,  and  the  Most  Holy  Child  in  her  arms. 
The  people  believed  that  a  great  miracle  had  been 
performed  by  the  mother  of  Christ,  through  the 
prayers  of  their  pastor.  After  that  night  the  ser- 
pent was  never  seen  again.  A  supply  of  eggs  and 
poultry  never  failed  afterwards  to  be  brought  by 
the  people  to  the  priest.  It  is  said  that  he  ate  nothing 
but  eggs  and  poultry,  and  became  so  fat  that  he 
died  of  heart  failure,  surrounded  by  chickens  and 
eggs.  Olina  was  a  great  devotee  of  La  Madonna 
del  Serpente.  She  had  a  small  altar  in  her  room 
with  an  image  of  this  Madonna  on  it,  before  which 
she  kept  a  larnp  burning  night  and  day  as  a  sign 
of  her  devotion.  The  cave  in  the  mountain  is  there 
yet,  and  in  it  are  mines  rich  in  various  minerals. 
Several  springs  of  water  flow  from  it,  excellent  for 


122  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

the  health.  But  the  most  important  of  the  mines 
are  those  of  salt  and  sulphur.  From  ancient  times 
this  mountain  and  cave  have  been  the  property  of 
the  government.  Formerly  the  mines  were  operated 
by  the  galley-slaves.  The  present  Italian  govern- 
ment has  taken  possession  of  them,  and  they  are 
now  worked  by  common  labourers. 

The  above  story  of  the  serpent  and  its  conquering 
Madonna  is  the  product  of  superstition,  and,  like 
many  other  stories  of  saints  and  madonnas  in  Italy, 
Oliria  believed  it  to  be  true.  So  did  I  at  the  time. 
It  requires  very  little  common  sense,  however,  to 
see  how  false  and  irrational  are  such  tales. 

All  that  night  and  the  next  day  I  could  see  in 
my  imagination  Olina  feverish  and  restless,  always 
looking  at  me.  As  I  went  up  and  down  the  tread- 
mill I  suffered  greatly,  for  I  was  afraid  that  I  should 
not  see  her  again  before  she  passed  away.  To 
increase  my  sorrow  that  evening  the  custode  did 
not  come  after  me  as  he  had  done  almost  every  night 
before.  I  did  not  lie  down  at  all  that  night,  and 
did  nothing  but  nurse  my  woe.  About  midnight  the 
custode  came  and  said,  "  Olina  is  dying,  and  she 
wishes  to  see  you." 

I  followed  him  to  the  room  where  the  dying  girl 
was.  As  she  saw  me,  she  stretched  her  arms  to- 
wards me  and  said,  "  Tonio,  I  am  going.  Look 
up;  see  how  beautiful  is  the  Glory  Land.  See  the 
shining  angels.  They  are  beckoning  me  to  come 
and  they  say,  '  The  golden  gates  are  wide  open.'  " 


OLINA  123 

Then  she  made  a  sign  for  us  all  to  draw  close  to 
her,  and  with  very  feeble  voice  she  said,  "  Look 
up!  In  yonder  Glory  Land,  see  La  Madonna  del 
Serpente  seated  on  a  throne  of  splendour.  Above 
the  throne  is  a  rainbow,  whose  many  colours  are 
more  resplendent  than  the  sun  itself.  In  that  rain- 
bow I  see  a  scroll  and  written  on  it  in  letters  of 
pure  gold  are  these  words,  Figlia  mia,  ti  do  il 
benvenuto  (My  daughter,  I  bid  thee  welcome). 
Around  the  throne  I  see  the  celestial  choir  singing 
a  song  of  greeting.  Under  the  throne  I  see  a  black 
serpent  with  the  right  foot  of  the  Madonna  resting 
upon  its  crushed  head.  Before  the  throne  a  great 
multitude  of  angels  and  archangels  do  homage  to 
her  who  is  seated  upon  it.  As  I  look  I  see  every- 
where the  words  shining  star-like,  '  Welcome,  wel- 
come/   I  must  go;  hold  me  not  back." 

Then  she  closed  her  eyes.  We  watched  her  with 
great  anxiety  and  palpitating  hearts.  We  felt  that 
she  had  now  gone.  But  soon  her  lips  moved,  and 
again,  as  she  looked  up  at  us,  she  smiled  and  whis- 
pered, "La  Madre  di  Dio  calls  me;  I  must  go. 
Addio,  papa — addio,  mamma — addio,  Mica."  Then 
all  was  still.  Nothing  could  be  heard  in  that  cham- 
ber of  death  but  the  sobs  of  those  around  her  bed. 
There  was  an  expression  of  peace  and  eternal  rest 
upon  her  face.  She  looked  as  if  drawing  her  last 
breath,  when  we  saw  her  lips  parting,  and  she  very 
softly  and  sweetly  said,  "  Tonio,  addio."  Then  she 
rested  for  a  moment,  and  with  a  heavenly  smile  said, 


124  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

"  lo  v'  aspetto  tutti  lassu  "  (I  shall  wait  for  you  all 
over  yonder).  Then  her  hands  gently  fell  to  a 
resting-place  on  either  side  of  her  body,  her  head 
sank  down  a  little,  and,  without  a  struggle,  as  a 
child  goes  to  sleep,  still  retaining  upon  her  face  that 
celeste  soriso  (heavenly  smile),  Olina  passed  away 
to  a  happy  life  beyond. 

As  with  breaking  hearts  we  gazed  upon  that 
beautiful  but  lifeless  body,  we  felt  that  she  was 
exactly  as  she  looked,  not  dead,  but  sleeping. 

I  said  in  my  heart  as  I  returned  to  the  Gabbia  del 
Diavolo,  "  Yes,  she  is  sleeping,  and  will  wake  again 
on  the  day  of  eternal  glory,  when  I  shall  again  see 
my  Olina  of  Civita  Vecchia." 

The  death-scene  of  Olina  was  indeed  remarkable. 
She  was  brought  up  by  religious  and  devoted  people 
who  inculcated  in  her  simple  and  pure  mind  all  the 
piety  and  devotion  of  a  saintly  life.  When  she  died 
she  was  not  quite  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  her 
child-like  soul  went  naturally  into  religious  ecstasy 
and  joyous  faith.  She  loved  with  all  her  heart  La 
Madonna  del  Serpente,  so  that  her  vision  on  that 
occasion  was  the  product  of  her  strong  belief  and 
the  spiritual  desire  to  be  with  the  object  she  so 
dearly  loved.  Hence  her  welcome  and  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  "  Glory  Land  "  were  visionary;  but  who 
can  say  that  she  did  not  realize  the  substance  of 
her  aspirations? 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE  ESCAPE 


THE  galley-slave  went  back  to  the  Gabbia  del 
Diavolo  sad  and  down-hearted.  The  world, 
which  yesterday  was  full  of  sunshine,  had 
suddenly  been  plunged  into  utter  darkness.  He  felt 
as  we  should  if  we  were  to  realize  that  we  were 
nevermore  to  see  the  sunshine.  What  would  remain 
to  cheer  and  brighten  this  world?  My  sun  was 
Olina,  and  she  was  no  more.  After  all,  I  reasoned, 
life  is  made  of  ups  and  downs.  It  is  like  the  tread- 
mill in  which  I  am  working.  One  moment  we  are 
up,  and  the  next  we  are  down.  But  why  should 
Heaven,  which  is  all  light  and  glory,  why  should  it 
rob  me  of  the  only  sunshine  I  have  ever  had  in 
my  sad  existence?  Yet  I  see  that  her  trial  was 
permitted  in  order  to  remove  my  Olina  from  pain 
and  grief,  and  make  her  more  beautiful,  more  an- 
gelic. It  was  for  her  happiness,  and  I  kiss  the 
hand  which  has  crushed  my  heart,  and  say,  "  Thy 
will  be  done,"  patiently  waiting  for  my  time  to 
come. 

I  saw  the  custode  some  four  weeks  after  Olina 
died,  and  inquired  where  she  had  been  buried.    "  In 

125 


126  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

her  native  town  of  Corneto,"  was  the  answer.  Then 
the  custode  said,  "  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have 
resigned  my  position  as  custode  of  this  prison.  My 
wife  and  daughter  could  not  bear  to  Hve  in  a  place 
so  full  of  sad  memories.  It  was  here  that  our  be- 
loved child  fell  down  the  stairs,  and  that  was  the 
cause  of  her  death.  We  loved  her  so  dearly  that 
living  here  would  only  add  to  our  sorrow.  I  have 
been  appointed  custode  of  the  prison  at  Ancona  on 
the  shores  of  the  Adriatic." 

"And  where  is  that,  Signor  Custode?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"  It  is  on  the  east  side  of  the  peninsula,  about 
two  hundred  miles  from  here,"  he  replied.  "  Count 
Malsano  got  the  position  for  me.  By  the  way,  the 
Count  is  very  much  interested  in  you.  I  have 
spoken  to  him  about  you,  and  he  assures  me  that 
he  will  urge  the  new  custode  to  treat  you  well.  The 
Count  would  do  more  for  you,  but  he  is  a  near  re- 
lation of  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  he  was  warned 
by  him  to  keep  a  close  watch  on  you.  The  car- 
dinal regards  you  as  dangerous  because  of  your 
relationship  to  the  Duke  of  Casanova." 

"  Would  it  not  be  possible  for  me  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  prison  where  you  are  going?"  I 
eagerly  asked. 

"  I  wish  it  were  possible;  nothing  else  would  give 
me  so  much  pleasure,"  said  the  custode.  "  We 
shall  never  forget  the  great  comfort  you  were 
to    our    dear    child.     How    much    sunshine    you 


THE  ESCAPE  127 

brought  into  her  life!  God  bless  you,  my  dear  boy. 
Addio!" 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  jailers  whenever  they 
appeared  in  public  to  wear  a  bunch  of  keys,  so  that 
the  official  position  of  the  man  might  be  known. 
The  next  Sunday,  when  I  attended  mass  in  the 
church,  I  looked  for  the  new  custode,  and  soon 
saw  him  coming  with  his  bunch  of  keys.  But  I 
was  greatly  disappointed  in  the  appearance  of  the 
man.  He  was  coarse  and  stout,  and  of  very  dark 
complexion.  His  hair  was  curly  and  black,  and  the 
way  he  combed  it  made  him  look  as  though  he  had 
a  flat  horn  on  each  side  of  his  forehead.  He  had 
a  ferocious  black  moustache.  His  eyes  were  round 
and  projecting,  his  mouth  was  large,  his  nose  flat, 
and  his  chin  came  out  half  an  inch  in  front  of  his 
mouth.  He  was  bull-like  in  appearance  and  in 
character,  ready  to  gore  anything  that  might  come 
across  his  path.  He  was  soon  baptized  by  the  galley- 
slaves  "  II  Toro  "  (the  Bull). 

I  was  very  miserable  for  several  days.  Asked 
to  sing,  I  could  not.  As  soon  as  I  began  a  song 
my  eyes  would  fill  with  tears,  and  my  emotions 
overcame  me. 

One  day  I  told  the  new  custode  that  I  would  like 
to  see  Fra  Angelico,  the  new  chaplain  of  the  prison. 
The  custode  asked  me  why  I  wanted  to  see  the 
monk.  I  answered  that  I  wanted  to  confess  to  the 
good  man. 

"Confess  your  crimes,  eh?" 


128  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

"  I  have  committed  no  crimes,"  I  replied  with 
spirit.  "If  I  am  here,  it  is  because  I  love  my 
country,  because  I  love  my  people  and  wish  them 
free  and  united." 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  rebel,  and  you  think  that  taking 
up  arms  against  the  Holy  Father  is  no  crime." 
Then  with  a  sneer  on  his  face  he  said,  "  Oh,  you 
are  a  brave  boy,  indeed." 

"Yes,"  I  retorted  with  increasing  warmth;  "any 
one  who  fights  against  tyrants  and  tyranny,  any 
one  who  gives  his  life  to  break  the  chain  of  slavery 
from  the  hands  of  his  fellowmen,  any  one  who 
gives  his  blood  to  maintain  the  honour  of  his  coun- 
try, any  one  who  loves  justice,  peace  and  truth, — 
yes,  any  one  whose  heart  is  loyal  to  his  native  land 
and  beats  in  sympathy  with  his  own  people,  and, 
seeing  the  heavy  burdens  which  injustice  lays  upon 
them,  fights  against  the  oppressors,  he  is  not  only 
brave,  but  he  is  a  liberator." 

"  Young  man,"  said  the  custode,  "  what  makes 
you  so  bold  ?  " 

"  Because  I  speak  the  truth  and  I  have  all  true 
Italian  hearts  with  me." 

"  Be  careful,  be  careful,  or  you  will  end  your  life 
upon  the  scaffold." 

I  replied,  "  It  is  more  honourable  to  die  upon  the 
scaffold  for  the  love  of  one's  country,  than  to  be  a 
hireling  of  the  oppressors." 

At  this  last  remark,  the  custode  gave  me  a  vicious 
look  and  went  away. 


THE  ESCAPE  129 

I  know  that  I  ought  not  to  have  spoken  in  that 
way  to  an  official  of  the  government,  but  my  heart 
was  so  full  of  sorrow  that  I  cared  not  what  I  said. 
I  did  not  care  what  happened  to  me.  Life  had  be- 
come a  burden  which  I  could  no  longer  bear.  But 
Fra  Angelico  came  the  next  day,  and  I  unburdened 
my  heart  to  him.  The  good  man  talked  so  sympa- 
thetically that  I  felt  much  better.  Before  the  priest 
left,  I  said,  "  Padre  Angelico,  I  want  to  die.  I  want 
to  go  to  heaven.    Can't  I  die?  " 

"  My  dear  son,"  replied  Padre  Angelico,  "  you 
must  wait  your  time,  when  God  will  surely  call 
you.  We  have  no  right  to  take  our  life,  for  it  is 
not  ours;  it  belongs  to  God." 

"  But,"  I  insisted,  "  you  have  power  to  give  per- 
mission to  any  one  who  truly  desires  to  go  to 
heaven  to  die  if  he  wants  to,  for  when  you  are 
at  the  altar  celebrating  mass,  you  assume  to  be  God, 
or  to  stand  in  God's  stead.  So  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  can  give  permission  to  any  one  to  die  and  go 
to  heaven." 

*'  Oh  no,  my  son,  we  are  only  doing  what  He  has 
given  us  to  do,  namely,  repeat  the  sacrifice  of  His 
beloved  Son,  Jesus  Christ,  upon  the  cross.  But  we 
are  sinners,  and  have  no  right  to  give  or  to  take 
life.  We  are  only  the  servants  of  God,  and,  at 
that,  very  unworthy,  for  we  often  fall  short  of 
doing  our  duty.  But  why  do  you  want  to  die,  my 
dear  child?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  secret  which  I  cannot  divulge." 


I30  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

Then  there  was  a  pause. 

*'  Padre  AngeHco,"  I  continued,  "  will  you  kindly 
buy  me  half  a  dozen  roasted  chestnuts?  I  will  tell 
you  why  I  ask  this  great  favour.  Next  week  will 
occur  the  day  of  Tutti  i  Morti,  and  I  am  expecting 
a  dear  departed  friend  to  visit  me.  But  she  will 
not  come,  you  know,  unless  I  have  some  roasted 
chestnuts  to  put  on  the  table." 

The  monk  smiled  at  my  simplicity,  and  inquired, 
"  Who  told  you  such  a  story?  " 

Hurt  at  the  question,  I  replied,  *'  A  girl  who 
I  know  could  not  tell  an  untruth." 

The  monk,  seeing  my  sadness  because  of  this 
doubt,  said,  "  My  son,  I  do  not  for  a  moment 
question  the  veracity  of  your  informant,  but  please 
tell  me  who  made  her  believe  such  an  absurd 
myth." 

"  She  told  me,"  I  replied,  "  when  I  doubted  her 
story  that  Fra  Cipolla  had  told  her  that  the  dead 
come  to  visit  their  friends  during  that  night,  and 
would  eat  roasted  chestnuts.  Do  you  not  believe 
this  to  be  true?  " 

The  monk  answered,  "  No,  I  do  not.  I  know 
that  people  in  this  part  of  Italy  have  an  idea  that 
the  dead  will  come  back  on  the  night  of  Tutti  i 
Morti;  but  the  dead,  good  or  bad,  do  not  return. 
Somebody,  centuries  ago,  circulated  the  story  that 
he  had  received  a  visit  that  night  from  his  dead 
wife,  and  she  was  so  hungry  that  she  ate  a  bushel 
of  roasted  chestnuts  which  he  set  before  her;  thus 


THE  ESCAPE  131 

it  happens  that  ever  since  then  people  have  been 
fooHng  each  other  with  the  yarn.  They  bring  the 
nuts,  put  them  on  the  table,  and  at  the  hour  of  mid- 
night they  leave  the  room.  When  they  are  gone 
away,  they  think  the  dead  will  come  back.  But, 
instead  of  the  departed,  some  mischievous  person 
comes  and  both  eats  the  chestnuts  and  drinks  the 
wine  provided." 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  I  said,  "  because  Olina  wanted 
to  come  back  and  make  me  a  visit." 

"  Oh,  then  you  knew  Olina !  "  exclaimed  the  monk 
with  a  knowing  smile. 

At  this  I  blushed  and  hung  my  head  for  an 
answer. 

The  monk  then  said  that  Olina  was  a  lovely  girl, 
"  On  the  morning  she  died,  as  I  was  going  up  to 
see  her  I  saw  you  coming  down.  I  know  about 
you  and  Olina,  for  the  custode  told  me  all.  You 
remember,  my  son,  she  told  you  to  be  patient  and 
do  your  duty,  for  you  will  see  her  again.  Did  she 
not  say,  '  V  aspetto  tutti  lassu  '  ?  " 

Thus  ended  the  confession. 

For  three  years  and  two  months  I  had  been  a 
galley-slave.  I  had  now  entered  my  nineteenth  year. 
I  was  strong,  robust,  and  in  every  way  prepared 
for  hardships. 

The  new  custode  proved  to  be  a  tyrant.  Every- 
body hated  him  because  he  was  cruel  beyond  reason. 
He  had  an  ill  feeling  towards  me  in  particular,  and 


132  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

on  the  festival  of  St.  Vincent,  although  the  Rosignu- 
olo  was  requested  to  sing,  the  custode  forbade  it. 
I  was  weary  of  such  a  life,  and  if  it  had  not  been 
for  what  Padre  Angelico  had  said,  that  I  must 
be  patient  and  wait  my  time,  I  would  surely  have 
thrown  myself  into  the  sea. 

I  was  as  cross  as  a  bear.  I  wanted  to  get  away 
from  my  earthly  prison.  "  But,"  I  said  to  myself, 
"  I  must  wait  my  time.  God  will  provide  a  way 
out  of  this  horrible  place." 

As  I  was  thus  reasoning,  I  had  no  idea  that  the 
time  was  near  at  hand  when  I  should  again  be  free. 
Yet  as  I  look  back  and  recall  the  experiences  I  had  to 
go  through  to  get  to  freedom,  it  makes  me  shudder. 
But  I  see  now  it  all  was  for  the  best.  One  morning 
about  the  middle  of  April,  1855,  as  we  left  the 
Galera  and  journeyed  toward  the  harbour  to  go 
to  work  on  the  tread-mill,  when  we  arrived  at  the 
place  where  Via  Marina  forked  off  from  Via  Tos- 
'  cana,  and  had  proceeded  along  it  for  about  two  hun- 
dred yards,  the  cry  suddenly  came  to  our  ears,  "  A 
runaway,  a  runaway!"  We  had  no  time  to  get 
out  of  the  road  before  a  heavy  horse  dragging  a 
large  cart  dashed  right  into  the  gang  of  galley- 
slaves.  Two  of  them  were  knocked  down  and  seri- 
ously hurt.  One  of  the  guards  who  attempted  to 
stop  the  horse  was  dragged  by  the  animal,  and 
crushed  against  the  stone  wall,  killing  him  outright. 
At  this  time  of  day  Via  Toscana  was  full  of  people 
and  carts.    All  was  confusion  among  the  people  as 


THE  ESCAPE  133 

they  looked  down  into  Via  Marina  and  saw  what 
had  happened.  The  leader  of  the  guards  lost  his 
head  and  knew  not  what  to  do.  All  eyes  were  on 
the  dead  guard  and  the  two  galley-slaves.  No  one 
thought  of  the  danger  that  a  galeotto  might  escape, 
for  the  galley-slaves  were  chained  two  by  two.  But 
I  was  unshackled  and  at  the  head  of  the  gang.  I 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  which  led  from  Via 
Marina  up  to  Via  Toscana.  I  saw  a  chance  to 
escape.  I  was  desperate,  and  did  not  think  of  the 
chances  I  was  taking.  One  of  my  feet  was  already  on 
the  first  of  the  stairs,  then  I  took  a  few  leaps,  and 
was  in  Via  Toscana  in  a  moment.  There,  right  be- 
fore my  eyes,  stood  a  large  four-wheeled  cart  loaded 
with  stable  concime  (manure)  of  decayed  straw  and 
hay  which  extended  over  the  side  of  the  waggon 
and  hung  down  several  inches,  thus  preventing  pas- 
sers-by from  looking  under  the  cart  unless  they 
stooped  low.  The  cart  was  standing  still,  and  har- 
nessed to  it  were  a  yoke  of  oxen.  I  hurriedly  crept 
under  the  body  of  the  cart.  There  I  saw  a  sacco 
^  (bag)  made  of  ropes,  fastened  to  the  bed  of  the 
waggon  and  hanging  down  in  hammock  shape.  The 
bag  was  about  five  feet  long  and  two  feet  wide,  and 
hung  right  under  the  middle  of  the  cart.  It  came 
to  a  point  near  the  front  where  all  the  ropes  running 
in  a  straight  line  drew  together,  and  formed  the 
mouth  of  the  bag.  There  these  ropes  were  gathered 
into  a  single  rope,  by  which  the  bag  could  be  raised 
or  lowered  at  will.     This  rope  ran  into  a  pulley  at 


134  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

the  front  of  the  cart.  I  saw  that  the  bag  was 
empty  and  I  quickly  crept  into  it  with  my  head 
towards  the  front,  and  then  pulled  myself  up  as 
near  the  bed  of  the  waggon  as  possible. 

While  thus  hiding  I  heard  a  great  commotion, 
and  the  cry  was  raised,  *'  A  galley-slave  has  es- 
caped !  "  Then  the  guards  came  up  into  Via  Tus- 
cana,  where  a  crowd  had  quickly  collected,  and 
ordered  the  people  to  disperse.  My  heart  was  beat- 
ing like  a  trip-hammer,  and  I  was  impatient  for 
the  cart  to  move  on.  Very  soon  the  driver,  who 
had  no  doubt  stopped  his  oxen  at  that  point  to  see 
what  was  happening  in  Via  Marina  below,  ordered 
his  oxen  to  start,  and  the  cart  began  to  move,  but 
at  such  a  snail-like  pace  that  it  was  maddening.  If 
only  I  had  had  a  sharp-pointed  stick  long  enough 
to  reach  the  cattle,  I  would  have  used  it  most  vigor- 
ously. How  I  trembled  lest  anybody  should  look 
under  the  cart!  I  was  in  a  tight  fix,  and  also  in 
a  most  uncomfortable  position.  I  had  drawn  the 
netted  bag  so  close  to  the  bed  of  the  cart  that  with 
every  movement  I  felt  that  my  body  was  being 
crushed.  I  was  indeed  suffering  not  a  little,  and  the 
only  thing  that  gave  me  courage  to  bear  it  all  was 
the  thought  of  liberty.  Soldiers  with  their  long 
swords  drawn  passed  and  repassed  the  cart;  but 
they  never  for  a  moment  thought  that  any  one 
would  hide  under  a  cart  full  of  concime  drawn  at 
such  a  slow  gait  by  oxen.  But  on  we  went  and  soon 
rolled  through  the  Porta  Livorno  out  into  the  open 


THE  ESCAPE  135 

country.  Then  I  felt  that  possibly  I  might  escape. 
The  driver  never  looked  under  his  cart,  but  tramped 
on  by  the  side  of  the  oxen.  It  must  have  been 
noon-time  when  he  stopped  near  a  fountain  to  feed 
them.  The  cart  was  near  a  large  stone,  the  top  of 
which  was  on  a  level  with  the  hub  of  the  wheel. 
The  driver  sat  down  on  this  stone  and  with  his 
back  against  the  wheel  took  out  of  his  giitbba  (coat) 
a  big  loaf  of  bread  and  some  salami  (a  prepared 
meat)  which  he  ate  ravenously.  When  he  had 
satisfied  his  hunger,  he  went  to  the  fountain  for  a 
drink.  I  saw  that  he  had  left  some  of  the  meat 
and  bread  on  the  stone.  It  was  so  near  me  and  I 
was  so  hungry  that  I  could  not  resist  stretching  out 
my  hand  and  helping  myself.  I  was  able  to  reach 
the  meat  but  not  the  bread.  When  the  driver  re- 
turned to  the  stone  he  was  much  surprised  to 
find  that  his  meat  had  disappeared.  He  looked 
around,  but  could  not  discover  how  it  had  hap- 
pened. Just  then  a  dog  happened  to  run  by  on 
the  other  side  of  the  waggon,  and  the  driver  evi- 
dently took  the  dog  to  be  the  thief,  for  he  cried 
out,  ''Cane  maledetto!"  and  threw  a  stone  after 
the  cur. 

We  soon  started  again,  and  I  was  by  that  time 
so  covered  with  dust  that  I  must  have  looked  like 
a  negro.  Whither  I  was  going  I  did  not  know,  but 
decided  that  when  we  reached  the  driver's  destina- 
tion, I  would  show  myself  to  him  and  plead  for 
my  life.     But  the  cart  continued  on  and  on,  until 


136  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

I  felt  that  I  could  not  bear  the  pain  of  my  cramped 
position  any  longer. 

As  night  began  to  fall  we  entered  a  small  town 
about  twelve  miles  from  Civita  Vecchia.  In  a  few 
minutes  we  reached  an  inn,  into  the  yard  of  which 
the  driver  turned  his  oxen  and  cart  and  stopped 
near  one  of  the  open  doors.  I  lowered  myself  so 
that  I  could  look  into  the  room,  but  as  I  loosened 
the  rope  it  made  a  slight  noise  which  caused  the 
driver  to  look  around.  But  instead  of  looking  under 
the  cart  he  began  to  examine  the  horns  of  the  oxen. 
He  then  unhitched  them  and  took  them  to  the  stall. 
Soon  he  returned  and  entered  the  public  room  of  the 
inn,  and  sat  down  at  a  table  with  two  other  men. 
They  began  to  talk  and  I  listened  attentively  to 
their  conversation,  since  they  talked  loud  after  the 
Italian  fashion,  so  I  heard  every  word  they 
said.  The  men  at  the  table  greeted  the  driver 
as  //  Contadino,  and  welcomed  him.  Then 
the  innkeeper  came  in,  and  supper  was  ordered  for 
all.  The  contadino  (countryman)  said,  "  And  how 
is  my  friend  the  baker,  and  you  the  blacksmith,  how 
have  you  spent  the  day  ?  " 

*'  I,"  replied  the  baker,  "  have  been  kneading 
bread  all  day  so  that  it  would  be  ready  for  the  oven 
in  the  early  morning." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  blacksmith,  "  have  been  at 
the  forge  all  day  beating  iron  into  horse-shoes. 
As  you  have  just  returned  from  Civita  Vecchia, 
what  news  have  you  from  the  city?  " 


THE  ESCAPE  137 

"  Great  news,  great  excitement,"  said  the  con- 
tadino.  "  This  morning  we  had  a  runaway  acci- 
dent." 

I  was  so  anxious  to  hear  what  was  said  that  I 
lowered  myself  a  little  more,  and  to  my  dismay  the 
pulley  again  made  a  noise  which  caused  them  all 
to  look  towards  the  cart.  But  they  evidently  did 
not  see  anything  to  arouse  their  suspicions,  for  the 
contadino  continued,  "  As  I  was  driving  along  Via 
Toscana,  I  heard  a  great  cry  among  the  people,  '  A 
runaway,  a  runaway ! '  I  stopped  my  oxen  and 
looked  down  on  Via  Marina,  where  I  saw  a  power- 
ful horse  with  a  cart  running  at  full  speed  into  a 
gang  of  galley-slaves  who  were  going  to  the  mulino. 
Two  of  the  galley-slaves  were  seriously  injured, 
but  the  saddest  thing  was  the  fate  of  a  poor  guard 
who  tried  to  stop  the  runaway,  but  was  dragged  by 
the  maddened  animal  against  the  wall  and  killed 
outright.  The  people,  for  there  was  a  great  crowd 
on  Via  Toscana,  were  horrified,  women  fainted, 
and  children  screamed.  And  to  add  to  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment,  the  guards  cried  out,  '  A 
galley-slave  has  escaped!  People,  it  is  your  duty 
to  the  Holy  Father  to  try  and  catch  him.  Look 
out  for  the  galley-slave ! '  " 

I  was  now  in  a  tremble,  and  perspiration 
flowed  from  every  pore  of  my  body.  Who  can 
describe  how  I  felt? 

"  But,"  continued  the  contadino,  "  I  did  not  be- 
lieve that,  for  how  was  it  possible  for  one  galley- 


138  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

slave  to  escape  when  they  are  chained  together  two 
by  two?  Soon  we  were  ordered  by  the  guards  to 
move  on." 

Just  then  a  gentleman  entered  the  room.  He  was 
quite  young,  and  had  a  kindly  appearance.  He  was 
evidently  well  known  by  those  in  the  room,  for  as 
he  entered  they  stood  up  and  welcomed  him  heartily, 
they  called  him  Captain,  and  I  soon  learned  that 
he  was  captain  of  a  vessel  in  the  harbour  of 
Civita  Vecchia.  He  had  come  by  the  diligence 
which  had  left  the  city  about  two  hours  before.  It 
must  have  been  nine  o'clock  as  he  entered  the  inn. 
He  sat  down  at  the  table,  and  the  innkeeper  served 
him  with  his  best  wine.  After  he  had  refreshed 
himself  he  asked  if  they  had  heard  the  news  from 
the  city. 

"  Oh,  about  the  runaway  horse  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  more  especially  about  the  rtmaway 
galley-slave." 

At  these  words  I  felt  the  blood  rush  through  my 
veins  at  a  fearful  rate.  My  first  thought  was  to 
lower  myself  and  run  for  dear  life;  but  as  I  pre- 
sented such  a  dreadful  appearance  because  of  my 
filthy  condition,  and  as  I  had  on  the  conspicuous 
garb  of  a  galley-slave,  I  hesitated  and  was  trying 
to  decide  what  to  do  when  I  heard  the  newcomer 
say,  "Yes;  this  galeotto  has  created  more  excite- 
ment in  the  city  than  anything  else  that  has  hap- 
pened in  that  town  for  years.  He  was  held  in  high 
esteem  by  all,  and  Count  Malsano,  who  is  a  near 


THE  ESCAPE  139 

relation  of  the  Secretary  of  State,  thought  a  great 
deal  of  the  boy.  The  Count  is  questore  of  the  city, 
and  is  held  responsible  for  his  escape.  Indeed,  it 
will  go  hard  with  the  Count,  as  he  had  received 
special  orders  from  the  Secretary  of  State  to  keep 
a  close  watch  over  the  lad,  since  he  is  regarded  by 
the  Vatican  as  dangerous  on  account  of  his  rela- 
tionship to  the  Duke  of  Casanova.  However," 
added  the  newcomer,  "  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  II 
Toro  (the  warden)  is  the  responsible  person.  But 
he  had  received  orders  from  the  questore  to  let  the 
boy  go  unchained,  and  to  treat  him  kindly,  and 
that  will  save  his  neck,  for  it  would  have  been  death 
to  him  if  he  had  been  guilty.  I  was  told  by  a  guard 
who  travelled  in  the  same  diligenza  that  when  II 
Toro  received  the  news  that  the  boy  had  fled,  he 
acted  like  a  madman.  He  called  the  guards  into  his 
office  and  promised  to  give  any  one  five  hundred 
scudi  if  they  would  bring  the  slave  to  him,  either 
alive  or  dead.  Then  he  said,  '  I  told  Count  Mal- 
sano,  when  he  gave  orders  to  let  the  little  devil  go 
unchained,  that  he  was  a  dangerous  character,  that 
he  was  a  rebel  at  heart;  that  he  was  deceitful  and 
ought  to  have  no  privileges,  but  be  treated  like  the 
rest.  The  dog  of  a  galeotto  is  gone,  but  he  will 
be  caught  again.  Then  there  is  for  him  La  Notte 
dTnferno,  not  for  one  night  only,  but  until  his 
bones  shall  rot.  Ho !  men,  I  say,  go  and  hunt  high 
and  low  for  him !  Don't  let  me  see  your  faces  again 
unless  you  bring  the  rebel  back.     If  I  could  only 


I40  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

lay  my  hands  on  the  rascal,  I  should  be  the  happiest 
man  in  the  world,  for  I  will  have  my  vendetta.  I 
will  make  the  rebel  realize  his  own  words, — "  It  is 
more  honourable  to  die  upon  the  scaffold  for  the 
love  of  one's  country  than  to  be  a  hireling  of 
the  oppressor." — He  shall  die  upon  the  scaffold! '  " 

The  contadino  here  remarked,  "  But,  Signor  Capi- 
tano,  how  was  it  possible  for  one  of  the  galley- 
slaves  to  run  away,  when  they  are  chained  two 
by  two?" 

"  Ah,"  replied  the  captain,  "  this  is  what  will  be 
hard  for  the  Count  to  explain.  Who  was  it  gave 
instructions  to  the  custode  to  leave  him  unchained  ? 
I  learned  before  I  left  that  the  Count  feels  very 
uneasy.  He  issued  orders  for  a  company  of  Papal 
soldiers  to  scour  the  city,  and  to  search  especially 
throughout  the  sliipping  in  the  harbour,  for  it  is 
the  general  opinion  that  the  boy  hid  himself  in  some 
one  of  the  vessels,  and  hopes  thus  to  make  his  escape. 
Just  before  I  left  my  ship  soldiers  came  on  board, 
but  could  find  no  runaway  there.  Even  if  he  had 
been  there  I  would  have  made  sure  that  they  should 
not  find  him." 

"  Bravo ! "  I  cried  out,  and  I  unintentionally 
uttered  the  words  so  loud  that  all  at  the  table  heard 
the  sound  and  looked  at  each  other  in  surprise, 
though  nothing  was  said. 

The  captain  continued,  "  The  boy  has  not  com- 
mitted any  crime.  He  was  only  a  drummer  in 
the  army  of  Garibaldi  at  the  siege  of  Rome,  when 


THE  ESCAPE  141 

not  quite  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  was  taken  pris- 
oner a  mere  bambino.  Yet  our  men  sitting  on  the 
throne  of  justice  condemned  the  lad  to  a  Hfe  worse 
than  death  itself,  simply  because  he  loved  his  coun- 
try.   Oh !  where  is  justice  to  be  found  in  the  land?  " 

"  You  are  right,"  all  answered.  The  captain  con- 
tinued, "  All  Civita  Vecchia  loved  the  boy,  for  he 
was  known  throughout  the  city  as  the  Nightingale, 
on  account  of  his  beautiful  voice.  But  the  bird  has 
taken  flight,  and  I,  for  one,  sincerely  hope  that  he 
will  never  be  taken  back  to  the  Gabbia  del  Diavolo." 

Before  I  had  time  to  say  "  Bravo  "  again,  all  the 
rest  exclaimed  in  concert,  "  We  sincerely  hope  the 
same." 

I  then  let  the  rope  go,  and  the  pulley  in  turning 
made  such  a  racket  that  the  attention  of  all  was 
drawn  to  the  cart.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  I 
was  on  my  feet,  and  made  a  rush  into  the  room.  I 
must  have  presented  a  frightful  appearance,  for 
the  blacksmith  took  hold  of  a  chair,  ready  to  defend 
himself.  The  contadino  got  down  on  his  knees 
ready  to  recommend  his  soul  to  the  protection  of 
the  saints,  and  the  baker  hid  himself  behind  the 
door.  The  only  man  who  did  not  seem  to  be  fright- 
ened was  the  captain.  I  fell  on  my  knees  and  cried 
out,  "  I  am  the  runaway  galley-slave.  I  appeal  to 
your  noble,  generous  hearts!  In  the  name  of  the 
mother  of  Christ,  whom  we  love  and  respect;  in 
the  name  of  your  own  mothers  whom  you  love  as  I 
do  my  own  dear  mother,  I  appeal  to  you,  sirs.    Yes ! 


142  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

in  the  name  of  Jesus  who  came  to  this  world  and 
gave  His  life  to  make  us  free,  I  beg  of  you  do  not 
give  me  up  to  the  authorities,  and  have  me  sent 
back  to  the  Galera!  I  have  never  committed  any 
crime,  and  yet  have  been  sent  to  the  Galera  because 
of  my  love  to  our  country,  because  I  have  been 
obedient  to  the  call  of  that  love  to  defend  my  people 
from  tyrants  and  oppression,  and  you  know  that  is 
not  a  crime." 

The  landlord,  who  had  been  present  meanwhile, 
and  all  the  rest  cried  out  with  warmth,  "  You  are 
right;  we  will  stand  by  you  and  defend  you  even 
with  our  lives." 

Again  I  said,  to  make  doubly  sure,  "  Gentlemen, 
it  is  within  your  power  to  destroy  my  life  or  to 
save  it.    Which  shall  it  be?  " 

"  To  save,  to  save !  "  was  the  answer.  They 
looked  at  me  in  surprise  and  wonder,  and  said : 

"How  did  you  get  here?"  But  the  innkeeper 
interrupted,  saying,  "  We  must  do  something  for 
this  lad,"  and  he  left  the  room,  soon  returning  with 
a  basin  of  water  and  a  towel  that  I  might  wash  my 
face  and  hands.  The  blacksmith  took  a  comb  out 
of  his  pocket  and  combed  my  hair.  The  contadino 
and  the  baker  brushed  off  my  clothes  and  removed 
as  much  dirt  as  possible.  When  all  this  had  been 
done  the  captain  remarked,  "  What  a  change  a  little 
cleaning  up  makes!  Now  you  look  more  like  a 
human  being,  and  not  a  bad-looking  one  at  that." 

I  took  this  occasion  to  draw  their  attention  to  a 


THE  ESCAPE  143 

very  important  fact  and  an  immediate  necessity,  say- 
ing, "  I  should  look  much  better  if  this  garb  of  a 
galley-slave  were  taken  from  me  and  destroyed." 

The  captain  saw  the  point,  had  the  door  closed 
so  that  no  one  could  look  in,  and  said,  "  Yes,  it  will 
not  do  for  you  to  be  seen  with  that  uniform  on.  It 
must  be  disposed  of,  but  how  can  we  do  it?  " 

The  innkeeper  replied,  "  I  think  my  wife  can  fix 
that.  I  am  going  to  her  now,  and  will  tell  her  about 
the  escaped  galeotto,  for  we  must  take  her  into  our 
confidence." 

In  a  few  seconds  a  woman  came  into  the  room 
with  a  very  kind,  motherly  expression  which  re- 
minded me  of  my  own  mother.  She  looked  me  over 
from  head  to  foot,  and  said  to  her  husband,  "  I 
think  the  suit  we  made  for  our  dear  boy,  Cecco, 
will  fit  the  lad." 

I  learned  afterwards  that  their  son  had  been 
drowned  some  two  years  before  while  bathing  in  a 
stream  near  the  town.  She  brought  the  suit,  and  I 
went  into  another  room,  where  her  husband  helped 
me  put  it  on.  It  fitted  well,  and  all  wondered  at 
the  transformation  it  wrought  in  my  appearance. 
Supper  was  given  me,  and  as  I  had  not  for  nearly 
four  years  tasted  any  kind  of  food  worthy  the 
name,  I  ate  like  one  in  a  starving  condition. 


CHAPTER  X 


IN   THE   MAREMME 


1WAS  very  happy  in  my  new  estate.  I  looked 
at  my  suit  of  frustagno,  and  felt  the  great 
difference  between  it  and  the  galeotto's  garb. 
Frustagno  meant  freedom,  while  the  black  and  yel- 
low stripes  of  my  former  suit  meant  slavery.  One 
was  the  symbol  of  purity  and  innocence,  and  the 
other  of  crime  and  evil.  With  frustagno  as  my 
clothing  I  found  myself  surrounded  by  kind  friends, 
while,  when  I  wore  the  black  and  yellow  stripes,  I 
was  surrounded  by  armed  soldiers  and  cruel  slave- 
drivers  ready  to  inflict  punishment  on  the  slightest 
pretext.  I  felt  as  though  transported  from  a  life 
of  infernal  misery  to  the  highest  heaven.  Fru- 
stagno is  a  fabric  made  of  hemp  and  cotton,  two 
weak  materials,  but  when  combined  they  become  a 
cloth  of  the  strongest  and  most  durable  quality. 
The  name  is  derived  from  the  words  frusta,  a  whip, 
and  stagno,  a  dye.  The  hemp  and  cotton  are  woven 
closely  together,  and  thoroughly  soaked  in  water. 
Then  the  cloth  is  laid  upon  a  smooth  square  stone 
and  beaten  with  stout  sticks  until  it  is  perfectly 
dry.  It  is  then  dyed  a  dark  green,  and  becomes 
ready  for  use.     There  is  no  wearing  out  a  suit  of 

144 


IN  THE  MAREMME  145 

frustagno.  That  which  gives  the  cloth  such  strength 
and  durabihty  is  the  thrashing  it  receives;  and  is 
this  not  true  of  human  Hfe?  Man  is  made  strong 
and  self-dependent  by  having  passed  under  the  hard 
knocks  of  experience.  It  sometimes  takes  almost 
as  severe  treatment  as  the  cloth  receives  to  knock 
out  self-conceit  and  make  men  useful  to  society.  A 
kernel  of  wheat  does  not  become  part  of  the  staff 
of  life  until  it  has  gone  through  threshing  and 
grinding.  The  knocks  and  grindings  I  have  received 
were  indeed  severe,  but  they  were  all  for  my  good, 
to  prepare  me  for  life's  battle. 

The  name  of  the  small  village  in  which  I  recov- 
ered my  freedom  I  never  learned.  No  one  ventured 
to  say  a  word  to  me,  for  I  ate  like  a  starved  animal. 
When  every  crumb  had  disappeared  I  threw  back 
my  head,  and  gave  a  deep  sigh  as  though  to  say, 
"Satisfied!" 

The  captain  then  questioned  me  kindly,  "  Have 
you  had  enough,  my  lad?  " 

"  Gentlemen,"  I  said  with  emphasis,  "  it  is  the  first 
good  meal  I  have  had  since  I  left  my  home  in 
Barga.  I  have  no  words  at  command  to  express 
my  gratitude  to  the  kind  host  and  his  noble  wife. 
I  thank  you  all  for  your  sympathy.  You  have  saved 
me  from  a  life  of  untold  woe.  I  call  upon  the 
saints  to  reward  you  richly.  I  drink  now  to  the 
health  of  you  all." 

"  Bravo,  bravo !  We  wish  you  the  same,"  they 
cried  in  concert. 


146  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

The  captain  then  asked  me  to  tell  them  how  I 
managed  to  make  my  escape  under  the  four-wheeled 
cart. 

I  then  told  them  how  in  the  confusion  of  the 
moment  I  saw  a  possible  chance  of  escape.  I  knew 
that  twenty  steps  up  the  stairway  from  Via  Marina 
would  take  me  into  Via  Toscana.  There  I  saw  the 
cart.  When  a  little  boy  I  used  to  play  hide-and- 
seek.  I  often  hid  myself  in  the  netted  bag  under 
the  waggon  in  the  yard,  so  that  when  I  saw  in  Via 
Toscana  a  cart  with  just  such  a  bag  underneath  it 
you  can  imagine  I  lost  no  time  in  secreting  myself 
in  the  bag. 

"  You  succeeded  in  getting  the  authorities  en- 
tirely off  the  track,"  said  the  captain,  "  for  the 
general  opinion  in  the  city  is  that  the  lost  galley- 
slave  made  his  way  to  the  harbour,  and  is  now 
hiding  somewhere  among  the  shipping.  This  be- 
lief is  strengthened  by  the  fact  that  he  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  harbour,  having  worked  in  the 
tread-mill  for  some  years.  An  order  has  been  issued 
by  Count  Malsano  that  every  outgoing  craft  shall 
be  most  carefully  searched;  also  orders  have  been 
sent  out  to  all  the  police  departments  to  seek  for 
the  youth.  It  is  the  public  opinion  that  the  questore 
is  to  be  blamed  for  the  boy's  escape,  for  it  was 
through  him  that  he  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  not 
being  chained  to  another.  The  questore  feels  very 
uneasy,  for  it  might  cost  him  his  position ;  and  were 
it  not  for  the  fact  that  he  is  a  near  relative  of 


IN  THE  MAREMME  147 

the  Secretary  of  State,  he  would  not  escape  severe 
punishment." 

The  contadino  was  amazed,  and  could  not  under- 
stand how  the  lad  was  able  to  stay  in  the  bag  all 
day  long  and  not  make  himself  known,  since  to 
remain  in  that  cramped  up  position  must  have  been 
distressing. 

"  Just  as  I  started  the  oxen,"  he  said,  "  and  the 
cart  moved  onward,  many  excited  Papal  guards 
passed  and  repassed  the  waggon.  They  looked  into 
the  hallways  and  narrow  streets,  and  many  times 
were  within  ten  feet  of  the  boy,  but  they  did  not 
even  glance  at  my  cart.  Surely  he  could  not  have 
found  a  more  secure  place,  for  who  would  suspect 
that  a  galeotto  would  risk  his  life  under  a  cart 
drawn  by  oxen  going  at  a  snail's  pace  ?  The  concime 
in  the  waggon  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  deceiving 
them  and  concealing  the  runaway." 

The  blacksmith  gave  his  opinion  that  I  had  plainly 
been  led  by  divine  Providence. 

"  Very  true,"  said  the  captain,  "  for  our  God  is 
a  just  God  and  a  Protector  of  the  innocent." 

The  cartman  asked  me,  "  Why  did  you  not 
make  yourself  known,  and  tell  me  your  story,  for 
I  should  have  protected  you  even  with  my  own 
life.  Once  I  thought  I  heard  a  noise  underneath 
the  cart,  and  I  felt  inclined  to  look  there.  That 
was  when  I  ate  my  lunch  at  the  fountain  of  St. 
Giacomo.  My  salame  had  disappeared,  and  I 
thought  that  possibly  the  thief  was  under  the  wag- 


148  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

gon;  but  I  saw  a  dog  hurrying  away  on  the  other 
side  and  concluded  that  he  was  the  culprit." 

I  blushed.  I  saw  that  my  embarrassment  was 
noticed  by  my  new-found  friends,  and  frankly  ad- 
mitted that  I,  not  the  dog,  was  the  thief,  and  asked 
the  kind-hearted  contadino  to  forgive  me.  "  I  was 
so  hungry,"  I  added. 

The  contadino  asked,  "  Why  did  you  not  take 
the  bread  also  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  reach  it,"  I  replied,  at  which  all 
laughed. 

"  Now,  my  friends,"  said  the  captain,  "  what  can 
we  do  towards  putting  the  lad  on  his  way  to  a  com- 
plete deliverance  from  the  clutches  of  the  Papal 
power;  for,  so  long  as  he  remains  in  the  States  of 
the  Church,  he  is  in  great  danger?  I  have  no  doubt 
that  spies  have  been  sent  everywhere,  and  I  fear 
that  before  long  a  price  will  be  set  upon  his  head. 
We  must  be  quick.  Is  there  any  one  who  will 
suggest  a  plan?  How  would  it  do  to  put  him  at 
once  on  Tuscan  soil  ?  " 

The  baker  thought  that  it  would  be  dangerous  for 
me  to  go  anywhere  without  a  passport.  "  You 
know,"  he  said,  "  that  one  cannot  go  a  mile  from 
his  home  without  that.  The  guards  have  the  right 
to  ask  any  one  for  his  passport,  and,  if  it  is  not 
shown,  to  arrest  that  person  as  a  suspect." 

"  Our  friend  is  right,"  said  the  captain,  "  because 
to-day,  as  I  passed  through  the  city  gates,  one  of 
the  guards  demanded  my  passport.     I  should  hate 


IN  THE  MAREMME  149 

to  see  this  young  man  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
police.  If  we  only  had  some  way  of  getting  him 
into  Tuscany,  he  would  be  quite  safe  there.  That 
is,  if  he  keeps  away  from  the  priests,  for  we  all 
know  how  they  hate  Garibaldi.  They  would  with- 
out hesitation  denounce  to  the  authorities  any  one 
who  had  anything  to  do  with  the  great  general." 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence  among 
them.  Then  the  contadino  clapped  his  hands  and 
said,  "  Gentlemen,  I  have  a  plan.  Yes,  and  a  good 
one.  My  farm  is  on  the  boundary  line  of  the  Tuscan 
territory.  It  is  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Ombrone, 
which  is  the  boundary  between  the  Papal  States 
and  Tuscany.  Now  I  propose  to  our  friend,  the 
galley-slave,  to  take  another  ride  under  the  bed  of 
my  cart.  If  we  leave  before  sunrise  to-morrow, 
we  shall  reach  my  farm  in  the  early  part  of  the 
evening.  He  can  pass  the  night  at  my  house,  and 
on  the  following  morning  I  will  row  him  in  my 
harchetta  across  the  river,  and  put  him  on  the  road 
that  leads  to  the  city  of  Grosseto." 

"Bravo,  bravo!"  they  all  exclaimed.  "This  is 
the  best  plan." 

The  innkeeper  suggested  that  I  should  be  ques- 
tioned as  to  where  I  wished  to  go,  and  where  my 
home  was.  I  answered  their  inquiry,  "  My  home 
is  in  Barga,  Tuscany,  and  I  would  love  to  go  there 
to  see  my  parents.  But  the  priest  would  soon 
notify  the  Church  authorities,  and  I  should  be  in 
great  danger  of  being  secretly  put  into  the  hands 


I50  THE  GALLEY-SLyWE 

of  my  enemies.  I  feel  that  my  town  is  not  a  safe 
place.  I  would  like  to  go  to  America,  if  I  could 
work  my  way  there.  America  is  the  only  safe  place 
for  me." 

Then  the  captain,  with  a  smile  on  his  face,  said, 
"  The  idea  is  excellent  and  the  way  is  easy.  I  have 
a  brother  who  is  captain  of  the  brigantine  Balena, 
now  in  the  harbour  of  Leghorn,  and  he  is  to  sail 
for  America  the  latter  part  of  May.  The  boy  has 
plenty  of  time  to  get  there  before  the  ship  sails.  I 
will  write  a  letter  to  Captain  Costa,  my  brother,  and 
recommend  the  lad  to  him  as  cabin-boy.  Thus  he 
will  be  able  to  work  his  w^ay  across  the  ocean  to 
the  New  World.    Ink,  paper  and  pen !  " 

Soon  the  letter  was  in  my  hands,  making  me 
happy  indeed.  I  felt  greater  joy  at  the  thought 
of  going  to  "  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of 
the  brave  "  than  I  had  ever  experienced  before,  and 
all  rejoiced  with  me.  Every  one  seemed  to  be  de- 
lighted with  the  plan.  The  innkeeper  said  that  it 
would  be  a  hard  job  for  me  to  cross  the  Maremma 
at  that  season  of  the  year,  for  it  was  now  entirely 
deserted.  "  It  would  be  a  journey  of  nearly  two 
hundred  miles,  the  air  is  malarial,  and  there  would 
be  danger  of  contracting  the  fatal  fever,  febbre 
maremana;  but  the  boy  is  strong,  and  I  believe  he 
will  get  through  all  right." 

I  was  penniless,  of  course;  so  those  kind  friends 
made  up  a  purse  of  nearly  five  scudi  for  me,  quite 
a  sum  in  Italian  money. 


IN  THE  MAREMME  151 

At  four  o'clock  the  next  morning  I  was  wakened 
from  sound  slumber,  and  within  fifteen  minutes  was 
ready  for  the  journey.  The  host  and  hostess  were 
up,  and  the  hostess  put  into  my  giubba  a  big  loaf  of 
bread  and  two  salami.  After  brief  partings  had  been 
exchanged  the  oxen  began  to  move.  I  was  already 
in  the  netted  bag,  but  in  a  far  more  comfortable 
position  than  my  first  ride.  I  soon  fell  asleep  and 
did  not  wake  up  until  noon,  when  the  driver  stopped 
to  feed  his  oxen.  The  contadino  then  related  what 
had  happened  while  they  were  on  the  way.  "  It 
must  have  been  about  an  hour  ago  that  two  mounted 
Papal  guards  came  up  and  asked  if  I  did  not  come 
from  Civita  Vecchia.  I  said,  *  Yes,  I  left  the  city 
yesterday  morning  before  sunrise.'  They  then  in- 
quired if  I  had  seen  the  runaway  horse  on  Via 
Marina.  '  Why,  no,'  I  replied,  '  what  happened  ? 
Any  one  hurt  ?  '  They  replied  that  one  man  was 
killed,  and  two  galley-slaves  badly  hurt;  but  the 
most  serious  part  of  the  affair  was  that  a  galley- 
slave  escaped.  He  was  a  young  fellow  who  was 
permitted  to  go  unchained  to  another  galley- 
slave.  In  the  confusion  of  the  moment  he  disap- 
peared, unseen  by  any  one,  and  no  trace  of  him 
can  be  found.  It  was  said  yesterday  that  a 
small  vessel  left  the  port  for  Altomonte,  and 
we  have  been  sent  to  that  place  to  look  out  for 
him.' 

"  *  Well,'  I  said,  '  you  are  on  the  wrong  road  if 
you  want  to  go  to  Altomonte.     You  should  have 


152  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

turned  to  the  right  about  two  miles  back.  I  advise 
you  to  be  quick,  or  else  you  will  miss  your  man.' 

"  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  them  spur  on  their 
horses.  I  laughed  heartily  at  their  mistake.  But, 
I  tell  you,  all  the  time  they  were  here,  I  was  nervous 
enough  with  the  fear  that  they  might  look  under 
the  waggon;  also  I  was  afraid  that  you  might  snore 
and  thus  call  their  attention  to  you." 

It  was  about  sundown  when  the  contadino  drove 
into  an  open  field.  There  he  left  his  load  of  con- 
cime,  and  with  me  went  up  to  a  detached  house 
of  one  story  with  a  roof  of  straw.  We  were  met 
by  four  children  half  naked  and  exceedingly  dirty. 
The  housekeeper  was  a  slovenly  woman  who  had  a 
sleepy  look  that  led  me  to  believe  she  was  indolent. 
In  the  house,  sharing  it  with  the  rest  of  the  family, 
were  a  goat,  two  sheep,  half  a  dozen  hens  and  a 
lazy  dog.  The  house  was  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
Ombrone,  a  sluggish  stream.  The  supper  which 
all  partook  of  consisted  of  a  polcntone. 

I  seated  myself  on  a  stool  and  drew  up  to  the 
table.  The  polenta,  or  cold  mush,  was  cut  by  a 
thread  into  small  pieces,  and  each  one  helped  him- 
self. There  was  neither  knife  nor  fork.  I  ate  my 
bread  and  sausage,  and  shared  part  of  it  among 
the  children,  for  they  considered  it  quite  a  luxury. 
Very  little  was  said,  for  they  talked  in  a  dialect  I 
found  hard  to  understand.  All  slept  in  the  same 
room,  including  the  animals  with  the  exception  of 
the  dog,  who  seemed  to  be  the  only  well-bred  mem- 


IN  THE  MAREMME  153 

ber  of  the  household,  since  he  preferred  to  sleep 
outside  by  himself.  In  the  morning  I  was  awakened 
by  the  cackling  of  a  hen  which  had  laid  an  egg 
close  by  me.  She  was  looking  at  me  as  though  to 
say,  "  There,  I  laid  an  egg  for  your  breakfast ;  take 
it  and  eat  it."  I  took  the  egg  and  swallowed  it  still 
hot.  In  the  meantime  the  contadino  woke  up,  and, 
without  disturbing  any  of  the  others,  we  quietly 
made  our  way  to  the  river.  The  barchetta  was 
loosed  from  its  mooring,  and  we  were  soon  on  the 
other  side  of  the  stream.  The  contadino  gave  me 
instructions  as  to  how  I  could  reach  Grosseto,  a  city 
about  forty  miles  away.  He  cautioned  me  not  to 
leave  the  main  road,  and,  when  I  had  passed 
through  a  forest,  to  go  on  as  quickly  and  as  quietly 
as  possible,  not  to  attract  the  notice  of  any  wild 
animal.  The  forests  of  the  maremme  are  infested 
by  wild  beasts  and  poisonous  snakes,  hence  the 
warning.  I  felt  really  sorry  to  part  with  that 
kind-hearted  man.  We  said  farewell  to  each  other 
forever. 

I  commenced  my  long  tramp  through  the  ma- 
remme of  Tuscany  on  the  12th  of  May,  at  the  time 
when  they  are  deserted,  since  very  few  people  can 
live  there  in  the  summer.  Although  the  soil  is 
rich  no  crops  are  raised  at  any  season  of  the 
year,  except  in  the  heart  of  winter.  Contadini 
and  montanari  (mountain  people)  go  there  in  the 
winter  and  find  plenty  of  work.  The  maremme  are 
marshlands    near    the    sea,    not    unlike    American 


154  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

salt  marshes.  In  some  of  the  maremme  of  Tus- 
cany there  is  a  great  deal  of  timber,  generally  con- 
sisting of  pine  trees.  To  cross  these  marshes  at 
that  season  is  attended  with  much  danger  and  hard- 
ship. I  was  young,  and  felt  fully  able  to  walk  the 
entire  distance  of  nearly  two  hundred  miles  in  a 
few  days.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  make  at  least 
forty  miles  each  day,  and  did  walk  that  distance 
the  first  day.  The  things  that  troubled  me  most 
were  the  intense  heat  and  the  want  of  water  fit  to 
drink.  I  crossed  a  number  of  streams,  but  they 
were  either  salty  or  in  such  condition  that  I  was 
afraid  to  drink  from  them.  When  I  arrived  in 
Grosseto,  I  was  so  thirsty  that  I  rushed  to  the 
first  public  fountain  and  drank  to  my  full  satis- 
faction. 

The  next  morning  I  started  very  early,  as  I  was 
told  I  must  cross  the  most  desolate  and  dangerous 
part  of  the  Maremma  from  Grosseto  to  the  town 
of  Cecina,  called  the  "  Bad  Land."  It  was  said 
that  a  good  walker  could  make  the  distance  through 
it  in  about  two  days.  I  provided  myself  with  some 
water  in  a  flask.  The  first  day  I  got  along  fairly 
well,  but  the  desolation  of  the  whole  region  op- 
pressed me  heavily.  Not  a  soul  did  I  meet.  At 
night  I  took  refuge  in  a  deserted  hut,  for  there 
were  many  such  along  the  way,  people  living  in 
them  only  during  the  winter.  Next  morning,  the 
third  day  of  my  journey,  I  began  my  solitary  tramp 
with  sore   feet  and  a  sore  heart.     My  supply  of 


IN  THE  MAREMME  155 

water  had  been  exhausted,  and  a  very  queer  feehng 
had  taken  possession  of  me.  I  had  a  premonition 
that  something  dreadful  was  about  to  take  place. 
The  day  was  clear  and  sunshiny,  but  so  hot!  If 
nothing  happened  I  hoped  to  reach  Cecina  that 
night.  The  terrific  heat  of  the  sun  was  some- 
Avhat  modified  by  the  breeze  which  came  from  the 
direction  of  the  sea,  and  which  so  refreshed  me 
that  I  was  enabled  to  continue  the  journey.  I  had 
been  walking  about  three  hours,  when  the  feeling 
of  thirst  began  to  be  intense.  As  I  looked  around 
I  could  see  nothing  but  endless  marshes,  with  water 
in  abundance  but  too  salty  to  drink.  Once  I  took 
a  mouthful,  and  it  made  my  thirst  much  more 
severe. 

After  a  while  I  came  to  a  large  pine  grove.  There 
I  left  the  road  and  went  among  the  trees  in  search 
of  water;  but  the  search  was  fruitless,  and  for  fear 
of  wild  beasts  and  snakes  I  returned  to  the  road 
once  more.  Towards  noon  the  desire  to  drink  was 
so  great  that  it  seemed  to  me  I  should  have  to  tear 
my  tongue  out  of  my  mouth.  I  cried  in  my  intense 
suffering,  "  A  whole  world  for  a  drink  of  water! " 
At  this  point  a  very  queer  feeling  came  over  me. 
I  thought  I  was  on  fire.  As  I  passed  a  stretch  of 
woodland  I  saw  before  me  a  beautiful  meadow. 
The  grass  was  of  a  rich,  deep  green  and  looked  cool 
and  inviting.  It  fascinated  me,  and  I  was  greatly 
tempted  to  leave  the  road  and  lie  down  on  that 
carpet  of  soft  verdure.    But  I  continued  my  tramp. 


156  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

and  the  thirst  doubled.  Awful  indeed  is  the  feeling 
produced  by  the  intense  desire  for  water.  I  felt  I 
could  not  endure  it  any  longer.  It  was  now  high 
noon.  I  looked  again  at  the  meadow  and  it  seemed 
more  beautiful  and  inviting  than  ever.  I  gazed 
towards  the  Mediterranean,  and  there,  in  the  dis- 
tance beyond  the  green  meadow,  I  saw  a  river  of 
pure,  limpid  water  flowing  seaward.  How  cool 
and  refreshing  it  looked !  At  first  I  thought  it  was 
the  working  of  my  fevered  brain,  but  as  I  looked 
again  at  the  banks  of  the  sparkling  stream  I  saw 
trees,  their  foliage  shading  many  restful  nooks. 
Flowers  of  exquisite  tints  were  grouped  together 
there  in  pillow-like  masses  for  the  tired  head  of 
the  weary  pilgrim.  Angels  dressed  in  shining  white 
walked  about  in  all  directions,  bending  gracefully 
over  the  banks  and  dipping  their  hands  deep  down 
into  the  water,  then  holding  them  high  over  the 
flowers,  when  each  finger  would  become  a  fountain 
of  crystal  water.  Beautiful  maidens  with  flowing 
hair  and  dressed  in  pure  white  danced  as  they  came 
out  of  the  river,  bearing  in  their  hands  golden 
goblets  full  of  this  refreshing  beverage.  Thirsty 
men  kneeled  before  them,  and  then  down  their 
parched  throats  the  beautiful  maidens  would  pour 
the  water  from  the  golden  goblets.  As  I  looked  I 
became  so  bewitched  with  the  enchanting  scene  that 
I  could  not  move.  It  seemed  that  I  must  be  going 
mad.    My  brain  was  ablaze. 

The  men  who  had  drunk  of  that  water  seemed 


IN  THE  MAREMME  157 

so  happy,  and  I  was  utterly  miserable !  My  craving 
for  the  water  was  so  great,  my  thirst  so  intense, 
and  everything  seemed  so  real,  that  before  I  knew 
it  I  found  myself  walking,  as  I  thought,  on  that 
flowery  carpet,  making  my  way  towards  the  spark- 
ling river  and  saying  within  myself,  "  Soon,  very 
soon,  my  thirst  will  be  slaked,  my  suffering  will 
pass  away,  and  I  shall  be  as  happy  as  those  men,  for 
I  too  shall  drink  from  those  golden  goblets." 

But  I  had  not  gone  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
road  when  I  felt  the  ground  giving  way  under  my 
feet.  I  took  a  few  more  steps  and  then  began  to 
sink.  No  longer  could  I  get  my  feet  out  of  the 
mire.  I  turned  this  v/ay  and  that,  and  struggled 
desperately;  but  the  more  I  struggled  the  faster  I 
sank.  I  did  not  realize  that  I  had  fallen  into  a 
quagmire,  but  it  seemed  as  though  something  was 
pulling  me  down,  down.  I  felt  that  if  I  continued 
to  sink  I  should  be  buried  alive.  I  began  to  realize 
that  I  was  in  great  danger.  I  ceased  struggling, 
and  while  standing  still  became  aware  that  the 
sinking  was  hardly  perceptible.  I  looked  for  the 
beautiful  meadow,  the  river,  the  angels,  the  golden 
goblets,  the  maidens,  the  men,  but  all  had  disap- 
peared. In  place  of  the  lovely  meadow  which  I 
had  seen,  now  appeared  a  kind  of  wet,  low,  brown- 
ish moss,  which  after  a  little  turned  into  shallow, 
greenish  water,  and  in  the  distance  I  saw  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Mediterranean.  I  was  puzzled  beyond 
measure.     I  could  not  understand  why  those  things 


158  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

which  seemed  so  real  to  my  fevered  mind  should 
so  suddenly  vanish.  It  was  that  false  vision  which 
had  led  me  into  this  dangerous  condition.  Then  I 
recalled  to  mind  that  I  had  been  told  that  this  part 
of  the  Maremma  was  called  the  Bad  Land,  and  the 
idea  was  forced  on  me  that  it  was  the  working 
of  the  devil  to  destroy  me  soul  and  body.  I  gave 
way  to  utter  despair,  and  trembled  at  the  thought 
that  soon  I  should  fall  into  the  hand  of  the  Evil 
One,  for  I  was  superstitious,  and  absolutely  believed 
that  such  would  be  my  fate.  Hence  it  added  in- 
tensity to  my  suffering.  As  I  thought  of  those 
things  the  desire  to  drink  had  fled,  and  I  no  longer 
suffered  the  pangs  of  thirst.  I  imagined  that  the 
devil  had  hold  of  my  feet  and  was  pulling  me  down, 
and  how  could  I  resist  him  ?  I  had  been  taught  that 
if  I  would  cross  myself  and  invoke  the  aid  of  the 
saints  the  devil  would  flee  from  me;  but  instead  it 
now  seemed  as  though  I  could  hear  him  laugh  at 
my  shouts  for  aid. 

I  looked  along  the  highway  to  see  if  any  one 
might  happen  to  pass  that  way.  All  day  .long  I 
had  travelled  without  meeting  a  living  soul,  so  that 
I  had  no  hope  of  seeing  anything  to  cheer  or  help 
me. 

In  looking  north  along  the  highway  I  saw  some- 
thing mound-shaped,  and  beyond  this  could  see  the 
tops  of  pine  trees.  The  mound  must  have  been 
somewhat  more  than  half  a  mile  away.  This,  how- 
ever, brought  me  no  comfort,  and  I  said  to  myself. 


IN  THE  MAREMME  159 

"  Oh,  my  God !  must  I  be  buried  alive,  with  no  one 
to  know  of  my  burial  place?" 

As  I  thought  thus,  I  began  to  feel  cold,  and 
shivered  so  that  it  made  me  sink  more  rapidly.  But 
soon  I  felt  as  though  I  was  on  fire.  I  had  had  a 
severe  chill.  I  cried  aloud  and  said,  "  What  am  I 
to  do,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  Then  the  idea  came  to 
my  mind  of  doing  what  I  often  had  seen  the  shep- 
herds do  while  attending  their  flocks  on  the  hill- 
sides near  my  home.  One  shepherd  would  be  on 
one  hill,  and  half  a  mile  or  so  away  another  shep- 
herd upon  another  hillside;  and  when  they  wished 
to  call  each  other  they  would  put  their  hands  to 
their  mouths  in  the  fashion  of  a  megaphone  and 
then  make  a  peculiar  sound  which  would  be  carried 
a  long  distance.  This  I  had  often  imitated  in  my 
younger  days,  and  now  I  put  the  thought  into 
action,  and  made  as  powerful  a  shout  as  I  could, 
at  the  same  time  giving  it  a  tone  of  distress.  I 
continued  this  until  my  voice  gave  out,  but  no  help 
came.  Must  I  die  thus  ?  As  a  natural  consequence, 
when  one  realizes  that  his  end  is  approaching,  as  a 
last  resort,  which  should  always  be  first,  he  prays. 
I  thought  of  my  patron  saint,  San  Cristofano,  and 
prayed  to  him  most  earnestly.  No  help.  Then  I 
appealed  to  the  most  miraculous  Madonna  I  had 
ever  heard  of;  but  no  comfort  came  to  my  despair- 
ing soul.    I  was  still  slowly  sinking. 

I  looked  toward  the  west,  and  saw  that  within 
an  hour  the  sun  would  take  his  nightly  bath  in  the 


i6o  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

waters  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  then  darkness 
would  settle  all  over  this  miserable  Maremma.  It 
seemed  that  my  heart  would  cease  beating  at 
thought  of  the  darkness.  No  one  can  describe  the 
horror  of  knowing  that  he  is  being  buried  alive, 
slowly,  inch  by  inch.  The  thought  was  almost  be- 
yond human  endurance.  I  put  my  hand  to  my 
throat;  the  strong  impulse  was  to  end  my  suffering 
at  once.  But  Olina,  with  her  angel-like  sweetness, 
seemed  to  stand  before  me,  and  as  I  recalled  her 
dying  words,  "  lo  v'  aspetto  tutti  lassu,"  my  hand 
dropped  to  my  side.  I  then  thought  of  God.  I 
knew  that  He  was  called  by  the  Italians,  "  II 
Padrone  d'  ogni  cosa  "  (Master  of  everything),  and 
I  hoped  that  He  might  save  me.  I  said,  "  O  God ! 
Thou  seest  all  things.  Thou  art  everywhere,  and 
Thou  alone  wilt  be  witness  of  my  burial.  It  is  said 
that  Thou  art  rich  in  mercy.  Oh!  let  a  crumb  of 
Thy  rich  mercy  fall  upon  this  suffering  child,  and 
save  him  from  horrible  death,  for  the  sake  of  Thy 
beloved  Son,  Jesus  Christ.  Oh !  save  me.  Oh !  save, 
me !  "  Then  I  thought  that  I  must  pray  to  the  Son 
as  well  as  to  the  Father,  and  that  if  I  did  so,  my 
prayer  would  be  more  efficacious.  So  I  said,  "  Jesus, 
son  of  Mary,  Thy  mother  was  with  Thee  when 
Thou  didst  die  upon  the  cross.  She  was  present 
at  Thy  burial,  and  saw  the  place  where  they  laid 
Thy  body.  O  Christ!  this  unhappy  boy  has  a 
mother,  and  she  loves  him  as  much  as  Thy  mother 
loved  Thee,  but  she  will  never  know  the  sad  end 


IN  THE  MAREMME  i6i 

of  her  child,  nor  his  burial  place.  For  the  sake  of 
that  sorrowing  mother  save  her  boy  from  this  awful 
end!  Do  not  let  that  kind-hearted  mother  go 
through  life  carrying  this  crushing  burden  upon 
her  heart ! " 

I  was  now  resigned  to  fate.  I  bowed  my  head, 
waiting  for  the  end.  Hark !  what  did  I  hear !  Was 
it  the  working  of  my  fevered  brain?  Was  I  de- 
ceived? Listen!  listen!  It  was  the  barking  of  a 
dog,  and  sweeter  music  I  never  heard.  It  brought 
hope  into  the  darkness  of  despair,  and  I  cried, 
"  Praised  be  God,  I  am  saved !  "  As  I  looked  in  the 
direction  from  which  the  sound  came,  I  saw  coming 
around  the  bend  of  the  road  a  large  shepherd  dog, 
barking  furiously,  and  running  at  full  speed  to- 
wards me.  As  he  drew  near  I  looked  beyond  him, 
hoping  to  see  some  man,  but  not  seeing  anybody 
concluded  that  the  dog  was  alone.  At  this  thought 
my  heart  sank,  yet  I  was  cheered  by  the  presence 
of  the  animal,  and  felt  more  resigned  to  die.  At 
least  there  would  be  one  living  thing  near  when 
the  last  moment  came.  I  had  sunk  down  above 
my  hips.  The  dog  was  now  near  me,  but  on  firmer 
ground,  for  he  seemed  to  know  the  character  of 
the  land.  As  I  looked  at  him  his  eyes  appeared  full 
of  sympathy,  and  he  wagged  his  tail  as  though  to 
show  it,  for  a  dog  has  no  other  way  to  show  his 
sympathy  and  friendship.  The  kindly  creature 
whined  and  fretted  pitifully.  He  seemed  to  know 
that  I  was  in  great  danger  and  I  said,  "  O  Fedele! 


1 62  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

can  you  not  save  me?  Go  and  bring  your  master." 
The  dog  was  working  all  the  while.  I  could  see 
that  he  would  feel  the  ground  with  his  paws.  I 
watched  him  eagerly,  and  perceived  that  when  he 
found  a  place  where  the  soil  seemed  solid  near  me, 
he  gave  a  bark  to  attract  my  attention,  and  then  he 
would  lie  down  with  his  hind  paws  under  him  rest- 
ing on  solid  ground.  Then  he  would  stretch  his 
forepaws  towards  me  as  intelligently  as  if  he  said, 
"  Take  hold  of  these,  and  I  will  pull  you  out."  I 
tried  to  reach  his  paws,  but  came  short  by  several 
feet.  When  the  dog  realized  this,  he  seemed  as 
much  disappointed  as  I  was.  He  barked  and  whined 
and  tried  again.  I  noticed  that  as  he  barked,  instead 
of  looking  me  in  the  face,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on 
my  coat.  Like  a  flash  of  lightning  there  came  into 
my  mind  what  he  meant,  and  I  said,  "  Fedele,  you 
want  me  to  take  off  my  coat  and  use  it  in  place  of 
a  rope?"  He  surely  seemed  to  understand  what  I 
said,  for  as  I  took  off  my  coat  he  barked  loudly. 
I  held  a  sleeve  of  the  coat  firmly  while  I  flung  the 
other  end  of  the  garment  towards  the  dog.  He 
tried  to  seize  it  with  his  paws  and  mouth,  but  failed. 
I  tried  again,  but  he  could  not  catch  hold  of  the 
coat  with  his  teeth.  I  saw  that  there  was  no  time 
to  lose,  for  my  violent  motions  made  me  sink  more 
rapidly,  and  I  was  down  to  my  waist  in  the  mire. 
I  made  a  great  effort  to  reach  over  as  far  as  I  pos- 
sibly could,  and  flung  the  coat  towards  Fedele. 
This  almost  caused  me  to  go  under,  but  the  noble 


IN  THE  MAREMME  163 

creature  got  hold  of  the  other  sleeve  with  his  teeth 
and  began  to  pull.  Yes !  I  felt  that  I  was  rising. 
The  dog  was  pulling  steadily  and  trying  to  get  the 
whole  of  his  body  on  firm  ground.  After  a  great 
struggle  he  succeeded,  and  I  felt  myself  steadily 
drawn  out  of  the  quagmire.  I  soon  found  a  pur- 
chase for  one  foot  on  firmer  soil,  and  was  enabled 
to  pull  myself  up  on  the  more  solid  land.  Oh,  the 
joy  of  that  moment!  What  gratitude  came  into 
my  heart,  as  I  cried,  "  Saved  at  last !  by  an  angel 
whose  name  is  Fedele."  My  agony  had  been  so 
great  that  after  I  had  taken  a  few  steps  I  lost  con- 
sciousness and  fell  down  at  the  feet  of  the  dog. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  was  in  that  condition, 
but  when  I  came  to  myself  I  felt  that  some  one  was 
rubbing  m}^  hands  and  face.  When  I  opened  my 
eyes  I  saw  Fedele  licking  my  face  and  hands.  Will 
there  be  dogs  in  heaven?  What  is  heaven  but  a 
home  of  sanctified  intelligence;  and  if  animals  use 
their  intelligence  for  doing  good  there  may  be  dogs 
in  Paradise. 

If  you  had  been  present  at  the  time  Fedele  saved 
me  from  being  buried  alive,  you  would  have  seen 
an  expression  of  real  joy  in  his  eyes.  He  frolicked 
around  me,  licked  my  feet,  and  laid  down,  wagging 
his  tail  all  the  while.  It  was  now  quite  dark,  and 
Fedele  seemed  anxious  that  we  should  be  moving. 
I  followed  him,  and  was  delighted  when  I  saw  that 
he  was  going  in  the  direction  from  which  he  had 
come.    At  first  I  was  compelled  to  walk  very  slowly 


i64  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

on  account  of  my  weak  condition,  but  gradually 
my  strength  came  back,  and  I  could  walk  faster, 
which  seemed  to  please  the  dog. 

We  soon  came  to  the  hill  or  mound  which  I  have 
mentioned,  and  there,  where  the  road  took  a  turn, 
was  a  gully  fifteen  feet  deep.  On  the  other  side 
of  this  were  pine  trees.  Along  the  edge  of  this 
gully  was  a  footpath  which  Fedele  took.  We  had 
not  gone  more  than  a  hundred  yards  when  on  the 
opposite  side  I  saw  a  hut  with  its  door  open.  Inside 
was  a  man  with  long,  flowing  beard  as  white  as 
snow.  He  stood  in  the  open  door;  his  face  seemed 
kind  and  benevolent.  He  received  me  cordially, 
and  said  "  Benvenuto !  "  (Welcome).  The  dog  en- 
tered the  hut  and  lay  down  at  the  feet  of  his  mas- 
ter. There  was  but  little  furniture  in  the  room, 
for  it  was  the  home  of  a  hermit.  Night  was  coming 
on,  and  nothing  could  be  clearly  seen  outside.  The 
hermit  lighted  a  candle,  made  a  fire,  and  had  me 
sit  by  it  so  that  my  clothes  might  dry.  He  gave 
me  some  polenta  for  my  supper,  but  I  was  not 
hungry  and  could  not  eat. 

The  hermit  asked  me  what  had  happened.  Then 
I  told  him  of  the  exhausting  tramp  I  had  had 
through  the  maremme,  what  I  had  suffered,  and 
how  his  dog  had  saved  my  life.  The  old  man  said, 
"  About  an  hour  ago,  while  Fedele  was  lying  at  my 
feet,  all  at  once  he  began  to  sniff  in  the  air  and 
look  toward  the  west.  He  seemed  to  be  much 
excited,  and  barked  and  whined,  meanwhile  looking 


IN  THE  MAREMME  165 

at  me.  I  knew  what  he  meant  by  such  action.  He 
wanted  me  to  say  *  Go ! '  As  I  spoke  the  word, 
Fedele  started  at  full  speed  towards  the  road  to 
Grosseto.  I  had  before  noticed  that  he  acted  in 
the  same  way  when  he  wanted  to  hunt  a  rabbit  for 
my  supper.  Therefore,  I  paid  no  special  attention 
to  him.  Had  I  known  that  you,  my  poor  boy,  were 
in  such  danger,  I  should  have  followed  him;  but 
praised  be  God  that  He  saved  you  from  a  horrible 
death.     Let  us  return  thanks  to  Him." 

He  then  gave  me  a  rosary,  and  we  knelt  and  re- 
peated the  prayer  which  is  generally  said  to  Mary. 
Even  then  I  thought  it  strange  that  a  prayer  ad- 
dressed to  a  woman  should  be  offered  to  God. 

After  we  had  prayed  I  related  to  the  hermit  the 
beautiful  vision  I  had  before  sinking  in  the  quag- 
mire, and  told  him  I  could  not  understand  why  it 
disappeared  so  suddenly.  The  hermit  said  that  it 
was  a  phenomenon  called  Fata  Morgana,  and  is 
generally  the  product  of  a  feverish  brain. 

Just  then  I  began  to  feel  very  cold,  and  had 
another  chill.  When  the  good  man  saw  this,  he 
took  the  candle  and  went  out,  but  soon  returned 
with  an  armful  of  dark  green  leaves,  put  them  into 
a  pot,  and  made  a  tea  of  which  he  had  me  drink  a 
large  portion  while  it  was  hot.  At  first  I  felt  as 
though  I  should  lose  my  senses;  but  instead  of  that 
I  was  soon  in  a  deep  sleep,  from  which  I  did  not 
awake  until  the  next  forenoon.  I  was  wet  with  per- 
spiration, and  felt  so  weak  that  I  could  not  raise 


i66  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

my  hand.  As  soon  as  I  awoke,  the  good  hermit 
gave  me  something  to  drink  which  was  very  refresh- 
ing. By  and  by  he  brought  me  an  egg  cooked  in 
the  hot  ashes.  I  looked  at  the  egg,  and  then  at  the 
man.  What  memories  it  awoke  in  my  mind.  I 
thought  I  saw  my  mother  bending  over  me  when 
very  sick,  and  saying,  "  Here,  Tonio  dear,  eat  this 
egg.    I  cooked  it  for  you." 

As  I  said  "  Thank  you,"  a  tear  dropped  on  the 
egg  shell,  which  w^as  still  hot,  making  a  little  steam 
rise  from  it.  I  felt  that  to  be  like  incense  going 
up  to  God  in  thankfulness.  The  hermit  was  watch- 
ing me  closely  and  said,  "  My  son,  you  seemed  much 
moved  at  the  sight  of  that  egg;  what  is  the  reason? 
Ah !  I  know  all  about  it,  my  boy.  You  dreamed  all 
night  about  your  mother.  In  your  dream  you  were 
sick,  and  she  would  bring  you  an  egg  cooked  in 
the  hot  embers ;  so  I  thought  that  an  egg  thus  cooked 
would  be  the  best  thing  I  could  give  you  for  break- 
fast." 

The  tea  he  had  prepared  entirely  broke  up  the 
fever  called  marcmana,  a  malady  which  w^astes  the 
body  away  little  by  little.  In  a  few  hours  I  felt 
quite  well  and  told  the  hermit  that  I  would  continue 
my  journey.  He  said,  however,  that  it  would  not 
be  wise  to  undertake  anything  until  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  advised  me  to  remain.  I  took  a  short 
walk  with  Fedele  and  his  master  through  the  woods. 
There  was  a  well-beaten  path  going  in  a  northerly 
direction  which  we  followed  and  we  soon  arrived 


IN  THE  MAREMME  167 

at  a  place  where  there  was  a  good  road  which  the 
hermit  said  was  the  highway  from  Siena  to  Leg- 
horn and  much  travelled.  He  advised  me  to 
take  this  road  on  the  morrow.  At  the  point  where 
the  path  ended  was  a  sign-board  with  a  hand 
painted  on  it  pointing  towards  the  hermit's  hut; 
but  as  I  could  not  read  the  marks  on  it,  I  asked 
the  hermit  to  tell  me  what  the  words  meant.  He 
answered, 

"  To  the  hermit's  hut,  the  refuge  of  pilgrims.'' 

He  explained  to  me  that  on  a  high  hill  near  the 
city  of  Leghorn  there  is  a  sacred  and  renowned 
shrine  called  La  Madonna  di  Montenero,  known 
all  over  Italy,  which  at  that  season  is  visited  by 
great  numbers  of  pilgrims  going  from  the  south  to 
Leghorn  by  the  Siena  road,  while  at  the  same  time 
none  would  venture  to  go  by  the  Grosseto  route 
because  of  the  malaria.  The  two  roads  met  about 
three  miles  from  where  we  stood. 

Just  then  ten  of  these  pilgrims  passed  us.  As 
they  saw  the  hermit  they  all  bowed  down  at  his  feet 
and  he  blessed  them,  wishing  them  a  happy  journey 
to  the  shrine  of  Montenero.  After  this  we  returned 
to  the  hut.  Before  dark  a  terrific  storm  came  up 
from  the  sea.  It  was  something  of  a  cyclone.  The 
door  of  the  hut  was  blown  open,  and  we  feared 
that  the  wind  would  sweep  away  the  weak  hut 
itself,  which  very  likely  would  have  happened,  had 
we  not  combined  our  strength  and  managed  to  hold 


i68  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

the  door  in  its  place.  The  rain  came  down  in  tor- 
rents, the  wind  shrieked,  and  the  lightning  flashes 
W'ere  almost  blinding,  while  the  thunder  roared  in- 
cessantly. We  heard  the  crashing  of  trees,  and  it 
seemed  that  the  whole  forest  of  pines  would  be 
swept  away.  The  gully  which  Fedele  and  I  had 
crossed  the  day  before  was  now  a  raging  torrent. 
But  as  suddenly  as  the  storm  had  come,  it  passed 
away.  Had  it  been  of  an  hour's  duration  it  is 
probable  we  should  have  perished,  carried  away  by 
the  torrent.  As  soon  as  the  storm  stopped,  the 
door  was  opened  and  we  saw  about  us  a  scene  of 
devastation,  for  some  of  the  trees  had  been  up- 
rooted and  others  broken  by  the  gale.  The  water 
in  the  gully  was  not  more  than  ten  feet  from  us. 

As  it  was  growing  dark  we  repaired  the  door  of 
the  hut,  which  had  been  damaged  by  the  force  of 
the  wind,  and  closing  it  we  fell  upon  our  knees  to 
thank  our  Father  in  Heaven.  While  we  were  pray- 
ing, Fedele  seemed  to  be  greatly  excited  and  barked 
furiously.  The  hermit  told  the  dog  to  keep  quiet. 
But  at  the  same  time  we  heard  a  human  voice  out- 
side the  cabin  imploring  help.  It  sounded  as  though 
it  came  from  some  person  in  great  distress.  The 
door  was  immediately  opened,  and  out  rushed 
Fedele.  We  followed  him,  and  a  short  distance 
away  we  found  a  man  prostrate  on  the  ground.  He 
seemed  to  be  in  a  dying  condition,  but  we  managed 
to  lift  him  into  the  cabin  and  laid  him  on  the  floor. 
The  hermit  made  an  examination  of  the  injured 


IN  THE  MAREMME  169 

man,  and  found  that  his  chest  was  crushed  in. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  the  poor  fellow  would 
soon  die.  Stimulants  revived  him  and  gave  him 
some  strength,  so  that  he  was  able  to  open  his  eyes 
and  smile  on  us.  As  soon  as  he  could  speak,  he 
said,  "  I  am  a  pilgrim  from  Naples.  My  name  is 
Antonio  Malafronte.  I  was  on  my  way  to  the 
Madonna  of  Montenero,  and  when  the  storm  came 
I  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  path  which  leads  to 
this  cabin.  I  read  the  words  upon  the  sign  and 
made  haste  towards  this  place.  I  ran  at  full  speed, 
as  I  saw  that  the  storm  would  be  irresistible.  I 
had  not  covered  half  the  distance  when  I  was  struck 
by  a  falling  tree  and  pinned  to  the  earth.  I  felt 
as  though  my  ribs  were  broken  and  my  chest 
crushed.  I  knew  I  could  not  last  long  and  struggled 
desperately  to  free  myself,  even  though  every  move- 
ment caused  me  intense  pain.  I  succeeded,  and  as 
well  as  I  could  made  my  way  to  this  cabin.  Here 
I  am  before  this  man  of  God  to  whom  I  wish  to 
make  confession  of  all  my  sins."  But  at  this  point 
the  poor  man  became  so  exhausted  that  he  had  to 
stop.  More  stimulant  was  given  him,  and  he  was 
enabled  to  proceed.  He  said,  "  Padre  Eremita,  I 
am  a  great  sinner.  In  my  life  I  have  committed 
many  grievous  sins,  some  of  them  horrible  crimes. 
I  have  murdered  two  innocent  children,  and  my 
soul  is  stained  with  their  blood.  I  was  about  to 
murder  a  third  when  divine  Providence  interfered. 
This  led  me  to  see  how  great  was  my  guilt  before 


I70  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

God,  and  how  horrible  were  my  crimes.  I  was  a 
soldier  under  King  Bomba  of  Naples,  and  was  in 
Rome  in  the  summer  of  1849 " 

At  these  words  I  began  to  feel  alarmed,  I  looked 
intently  at  the  man,  but  his  face  was  so  bruised  and 
so  covered  with  blood  that  I  could  not  tell  if  I  had 
ever  seen  him  before.  I  listened  most  earnestly  to 
his  narrative.  He  continued :  "  The  Holy  Father 
had  been  driven  from  St.  Peter's  chair  by  the  rebels. 
When  we  entered  the  city  I  was  doing  duty  with 
some  of  my  men  as  patrol  in  the  Piazza  del  Popolo." 

When  I  heard  these  words,  my  feelings  can  be 
better  imagined  than  described.  I  knew  what  was 
coming  next,  for  the  man  said,  "  We  came  upon 
a  boy  who  wore  the  hated  Garibaldi  red  shirt.  He 
carried  on  his  arm  a  drum  which  he  seemed  to 
prize  very  highly.  I  seized  it  and  with  my  foot 
smashed  it  to  pieces.  Then  I  laid  hands  upon  the 
boy,  and  as  I  did  so  he  seemed  to  know  that  I  was 
about  to  take  his  life,  for  he  knelt  down  and  said, 
'  Maria  Santissima,  have  mercy  upon  this  man,  for 
he  belongs  to  that  class  of  unmerciful  beings  who 
murdered  thy  Son  Jesus  and  nailed  Him  upon  the 
cross.  Oh,  Madre  Santa,  he  is  going  to  murder 
me,  for  I  see  it  in  his  eyes.'  Then  he  stood  up  and 
looked  at  my  hands,  and  saw  them  stained  with 
blood.  Then  he  fastened  his  eyes  full  of  fire  into 
mine,  and  cried  out,  *  Thou  art  the  assassino  dei 
bambini*  (the  murderer  of  children).  That  voice 
and  those  words  have  followed  me  for  more  than 


IN  THE  MAREMME  171 

three  years.  I  hear  them  now;  I  see  that  boy  stand- 
ing before  me  with  his  black  curly  hair,  and  with 
his  beautiful  sweet  voice,  crying  out,  *  Assassino 
dei  bambini ! ' 

"  I  have  fought  bravely  to  erase  from  my  memory 
that  boy  as  he  stood  before  me  in  the  Piazza  del 
Popolo.  Oh!  how  I  wanted  to  forget  his  words. 
How  hard  I  have  struggled  to  blot  out  of  my  mind 
the  prayer  that  he  there  offered.  But  all,  all  in 
vain.  I  have  gone  to  church  to  pray  for  forgive- 
ness and  peace,  but  as  I  stood  at  the  entrance  of 
the  sacred  temple,  I  seemed  to  see  written  over  the 
entrance  in  letters  of  blood,  '  L'  assassino  dei  bam- 
bini.' Then  in  despair  I  would  flee  away,  and  while 
walking  along  the  country  roads  I  would  come  to 
a  place  where  stood  the  cross  with  the  infant 
Saviour  on  it,  I  would  kneel  before  it,  but  as 
I  looked  up  to  the  Christ,  I  seemed  to  see  the  blood 
flowing  from  His  hands  and  feet,  forming  itself 
into  the  words,  '  L'  assassino  dei  bambini.'  At  night 
I  could  not  rest,  for  as  I  laid  down  on  my  bed  I 
seemed  to  see  children  dressed  in  white,  holding  up 
over  me  their  pure  and  innocent  hands  and,  as  they 
passed  by,  saying  '  L'  assassino  dei  bambini.'  At 
times  I  felt  as  if  I  should  go  mad.  I  wanted  to 
die,  but  I  was  afraid  to  die  without  forgiveness. 
Oh!  the  thought  is  horrible  that  I  should  be  sent 
to  the  '  Inferno '  for  all  eternity.  Padre  Eremita, 
for  years  I  have  had  no  peace.  I  have  suffered 
the  agonies  of  hell.     Padre,  is  there  any  forgive- 


172  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

ness  for  me?  Oh!  speak,  speak  absolution  to  my 
guilty  soul ! " 

He  closed  his  eyes,  and  we  tliought  that  he  was 
dead.  How  I  wished  that  I  had  spoken  to  him  to 
say,  "  I  forgive  you."  But  I  dared  not  reveal 
myself,  as  I  knew  full  well  that  the  hermit  was  an 
enemy  of  the  great  Garibaldi,  for  when  his  name 
was  mentioned  the  padre  crossed  himself.  Then  the 
man  spoke  again  in  a  very  feeble  voice  and  said, 
"  Padre,  I  was  told  by  a  good  man  that  if  I  would 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Madonna  of  Montenero, 
I  should  find  rest,  but  no  rest  has  come  to  my  soul. 
Padre,  pronounce  the  words  of  absolution,  and  I 
shall  die  a  peaceful  death." 

The  good  hermit  went  through  the  ceremony  of 
giving  absolution  to  the  dying.  But  there  was  no 
sign  of  peace  on  the  man's  face.  After  a  while  he 
exclaimed,  "  He  belongs  to  the  same  class  of  men 
who  murdered  thy  Son  Jesus  Christ."  Then  he 
paused,  but  soon  raised  his  head  and  looked  straight 
at  me  for  a  moment.  I  felt  uneasy.  I  feared  that 
he  might  tell  my  story,  but  he  dropped  his  head, 
closed  his  eyes,  and  breathed  his  last.  I  prayed  in 
my  heart,  "  God  have  mercy  and  save  his  soul." 

It  is  said  that  before  the  soul  leaves  the  body  all 
things  done  in  life  are  in  a  moment's  time  brought 
in  review  before  the  mind,  and  that  may  have  been 
his  experience. 

The  above  coincidence  was  strange  indeed. 
Therefore,  at  this  point  we  will  note  an  important 


IN  THE  MAREMME  173 

fact.  At  the  period  of  our  story  pilgrimages  were 
regarded  as  special  means  of  grace  for  men  whose 
consciences  were  troubled  on  account  of  some  great 
sin  or  crime,  and  to  secure  peace  of  mind  they  were 
often  advised  to  make  pilgrimages  to  some  holy 
and  miraculous  shrine.  At  that  time  a  shrine  near 
the  city  of  Leghorn,  dedicated  to  the  Madonna  di 
Montenero,  had  gained  much  fame  throughout  Italy 
by  the  wonderful  miracles  there  said  to  be  per- 
formed. So  during  the  spring  of  that  year  pil- 
grims in  great  numbers  flocked  to  Leghorn  from 
all  parts  of  the  country. 

The  duty  of  forsaking  the  world  was  proclaimed 
from  all  pulpits  of  the  Catholic  Church,  the 
preachers  painting  in  high  colours  the  religious  ben- 
efits gained  by  leading  a  life  of  solitude.  Convents 
were  crowded  with  religious  men,  and,  as  there  was 
no  room  in  them  for  others,  many  would  lead  the 
solitary  life  of  a  hermit.  Hermits  were  to  be  found 
in  many  desolate  places.  They  stationed  themselves 
either  on  the  mountains  or  in  the  desert,  away  from 
all  habitations,  and  especially  where  it  was  known 
that  pilgrims  would  pass.  Mala f route,  the  wicked 
man  just  gone  to  his  reward,  had  been  touched  and 
his  conscience  awakened  by  the  simple  prayer  of  a 
child.  Realizing  the  guilt  of  his  many  crimes  he 
sought  peace  by  becoming  a  pilgrim,  with  his  mind 
bordering  on  religious  insanity.  Hence  the  strange 
meeting  in  the  Maremma. 

In  the  morning  the  hermit  told  me  that,  as  I  was 


174  THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

anxious  to  go  on  to  Leghorn,  I  had  better  start  then, 
for  he  would  be  obliged  to  go  to  the  town  of 
Salonica,  about  three  miles  distant,  to  inform  the 
questore  of  the  man's  death,  and  if  I  were  found 
present  I  might  possibly  be  detained  as  witness, 
and  thus  delayed  for  several  days.  So  I  took  my 
farewell  of  the  good  man. 

After  some  difficulty,  I  succeeded  in  getting  to 
the  main  road,  for  the  way  was  literally  blocked  with 
fallen  trees.  It  was  fortunate  that  I  was  not 
obliged  to  cross  the  gully,  for  that  was  still  a 
foaming  torrent.  The  road  also  was  almost  im- 
passable on  account  of  the  wreckage  of  the  storm. 
As  I  travelled  I  passed  many  villas  and  met  many 
people,  had  a  ride  for  ten  miles  on  a  cart,  and  in 
the  course  of  two  days  reached  Leghorn.  There 
was  no  trouble  in  finding  the  brigantine  Balena,  and 
I  was  received  by  Captain  Costa  most  kindly,  and 
installed  in  the  ship  as  cabin-boy. 

We  stayed  some  ten  days  longer  in  Leghorn,  and 
on  the  25th  of  May,  1855,  sailed  for  America. 
It  was  sad  indeed  to  leave  my  native  country  with- 
out seeing  my  parents,  or  being  able  to  write  them 
a  word.  But  so  it  was  to  be.  I  had  been  thoroughly 
trained  by  sad  experience  to  take  things  as  God 
ordained  them.  •  Soon  I  made  myself  useful  to  the 
captain  of  the  vessel  and  to  all  on  board.  I  sang 
to  them  when  we  had  no  duties  to  perform.  The 
first  mate  was  my  best  friend.  He  took  a  deep 
interest  in  me,  and  when  he  learned  that  I  could 


IN  THE  MAREMME  175 

not  read  or  write  he  set  himself  to  teach  me  those 
important  arts.  By  the  time  we  arrived  I  could 
both  read  and  write  fairly  well.  Our  voyage  was 
pleasant,  and  on  the  14th  of  July,  1855,  we  landed 
at  the  port  of  New  York.»  As  we  passed  through 
the  Narrows  and  saw  the  beauties  of  the  bay,  the 
multitude  of  ships  with  their  sailors,  and  the  fine 
villas  along  the  shores  which  were  teeming  with 
people  full  of  life  and  activity,  I  realized  that  I  was 
indeed  in  the  New  World.  We  soon  made  fast  at 
a  pier  on  the  Brooklyn  side  of  the  harbour,  and  I 
stepped  on  the  shore  of  America !  - 


PART  III 
o 

A  Herald  of  the  Cross  in  America  and  Italy 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE   LAND   OF   THE    FREE 


I  REMAINED  on  the  Balcna  a  week  after  its 
arrival,  during  which  time  I  helped  the  sailors 
unload  the  vessel.  Plans  were  made  at  the 
end  of  the  week  to  take  me  to  a  place  where  immi- 
grants were  received.  Meanwhile  I  had  a  talk  with 
the  first  mate  as  to  what  I  could  do  for  a  living. 
The  mate  suggested  that,  as  I  had  a  good  voice,  I 
should  go  about  the  streets  of  New  York  singing 
some  of  my  Italian  songs,  for  in  this  way  I  could 
realize  considerable  money  by  passing  my  hat  among 
the  crowd.  "  Comb  your  hair  nicely,"  said  the 
mate,  "  and  let  your  curly  hair  hang  down  loosely 
upon  your  shoulders.  Your  coat  of  frustagno  looks 
well  enough.  When  you  have  made  a  little  money 
get  a  new  pair  of  shoes,  with  some  fancy  things  to 
put  round  your  neck,  and  you  will  make  a  pretty  pic- 
ture that  will  charm  the  young  ladies  of  the  city." 
I  liked  his  plan,  for  I  loved  to  sing;  but  there 
was  one  thing  in  it  very  hard  for  me  to  do,  and  that 
was  to  pass  my  hat  around  for  money.  Still  I  must 
do  something  until  I  had  learned  the  language. 
During  the  week  I  stayed  on  the  Balena,  I  had 

179 


i8o  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

learned  one  of  the  most  common  phrases  in  the 
English  language,  "  Hurry  up !  "  for  while  I  was 
at  work  unloading  the  ship  the  sailors  used  that  ex- 
pression so  often  that  I  could  not  help  but  remember 
it.  I  got  the  idea  that  "  hurry  up  "  would  express 
almost  everything  in  English.  One  night  while  in 
my  bunk  I  heard  one  of  the  sailors  say  to  another 
in  Italian,  "  Stop  your  infernal  snoring,"  and,  in 
English,  "hurry  up!"  These  words  seemed  to 
have  a  magic  power  over  the  snorer,  for  no  sooner 
were  they  spoken  than  the  snoring  ceased,  and  I 
thought  that  if  saying  "hurry  up  "  had  the  power 
to  stop  that  noise,  the  words  must  be  able  to  accom- 
plish almost  anything  else.  By  making  too  free 
use  of  the  expression  it  afterwards  led  me  into  no 
little  trouble. 

On  the  morning  of  July  21st  I  was  put  into  a 
dory  belonging  to  the  ship  and  taken  to  Castle 
Garden.  When  at  the  entrance  the  sailor  who 
rowed  me  said,  '*  Go  through  that  door,  for  that 
is  the  entrance  into  the  New  World.  Hurry  up, 
and  good-bye,"  and  then  returned  to  the  ship.  I 
was  rather  dazed,  and  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
There  I  stood  contemplating  the  doorman,  and 
thinking  what  I  could  say  if  any  questions  were 
asked  me.  The  functionary  who  stood  there  in 
Uncle  Sam's  stead  to  welcome  immigrants  into  the 
land  of  the  free,  seeing  that  I  did  not  move,  said  in 
a  rough  manner,  "  Hurry  up !  "  and  three  other 
words  which   I   did  not  understand.      But   I   did 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  FREE  i8i 

hasten  through  the  -golden  gate  which  admitted 
aliens  into  freedom.  Then  I  was  pointed  by  the 
doorkeeper  to  a  bench,  and  supposed  that  I  was  told 
to  sit  down.  There  were  many  people  in  the  large 
round  hall,  and  several  were  sitting  on  the  same 
bench  with  me.  Although  I  sat  there  until  sundown 
no  one  spoke  to  me.  I  felt  sad  and  gloomy;  besides, 
I  was  tormented  by  the  pangs  of  hunger.  Towards 
evening  I  saw  that  the  people  were  all  going  away. 
I  noticed  a  man  who  went  about  the  room  putting 
things  to  rights.  This  man  came  to  me  and  said 
something  which  I  did  not  understand.  Then  he 
took  hold  of  the  bench  on  which  I  was  seated  and 
tried  to  throw  me  from  it,  but  I  was  strong  and 
could  not  be  unseated.  When  the  man  saw  that  he 
could  not  make  me  move,  he  shook  his  fist  in  my 
face  and  roared  out,  "  Hurry  up !  "  At  these  words 
I  jumped  to  my  feet  as  though  I  had  been  shot, 
and  made  for  the  nearest  open  door.  Before  I  got 
outside  I  looked  back,  and  saw  the  man  carrying 
away  the  bench,  laughing  heartily. 

It  was  the  hour  when  people  were  hurrying  home 
from  shops,  stores  and  factories.  Crowds  of  men, 
women  and  children  were  seen  going  in  all  direc- 
tions, hustling  against  one  another  to  make  way 
through  the  throng.  I  could  not  understand  what 
it  meant;  I  had  never  seen  such  confusion,  or  heard 
such  a  hubbub.  The  sidewalks  were  a  mass  of 
human  beings.  The  streets  were  so  crowded  with 
all  kinds  of  vehicles  that  it  was  dangerous  to  cross 


i82  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

them.  In  those  days  transit  was  either  by  omnibus 
or  on  foot.  Much  is  said  about  the  congested  con- 
dition of  the  city  at  present,  and  the  want  of  more 
transportation  to  carry  people  to  their  homes;  but 
at  that  time  the  sidewalks  on  Broadway  were  almost 
as  crowded  all  day  long  as  the  entrance  to  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge  is  now  during  the  rush  hours.  If 
the  conditions  of  transit  were  to-day  what  they 
were  then,  it  would  take  half  the  night  for  a  broker 
in  Wall  Street  to  reach  his  mansion  near  Central 
Park.  However,  this  is  not  a  history  of  the  city 
of  New  York,  but  the  story  of  Tonio,  Garibaldi's 
Drummer  Boy,  Tonio,  the  Galley-Slave,  and  An- 
tonio the  Preacher. 

I  was  carried  along  by  the  crowd  in  spite  of 
myself.  I  could  not  turn  back,  nor  could  I  pass 
any  one  in  front.  I  must  go  on,  and  on  I  went  for 
two  long  hours.  It  was  now  quite  dark,  and  the 
multitude  had  thinned  out  so  that  I  could  breathe 
more  freely.  I  found  myself  on  a  broad  thorough- 
fare which  must  have  been  Canal  Street.  I  was 
walking  leisurely  along  and  came  to  a  place  where 
in  a  room  I  saw  many  tables,  with  people  eating 
at  them.  When  I  saw  this  I  felt  like  rushing  in, 
for  I  had  not  tasted  food  since  morning.  As  I 
looked  I  made  up  my  mind  that  it  was  an  osteria, 
or  restaurant.  I  entered  the  room,  and  at  a  table 
where  a  number  of  men  sat  was  a  vacant  chair.  I 
sat  down,  waiting  for  results. 

As  I  sat  there,  a  man  came  up  to  me  and  laid 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  FREE  183 

before  me  a  piece  of  pasteboard  with  many  words 
printed  on  it  which  I  could  not  read.  I  looked 
at  the  man  and  then  at  the  pasteboard.  I  pointed 
to  my  mouth,  and  then  to  the  pasteboard,  meaning 
to  ask,  "Must  I  eat  that?"  Then  I  called  the 
attention  of  the  waiter  to  the  many  dishes  on  the 
table  and  said,  "Ho  fame"  (I  am  hungry),  and 
in  a  loud  voice  added,  "  Hurry  up !  "  At  these 
words  the  waiter  took  hold  of  my  coat  by  the  collar, 
and  was  going  to  put  me  out  of  the  door,  saying 
several  times,  "  Get  out,  get  out !  "  So  I  was  able 
to  add  two  more  words  to  my  English  vocabulary. 
I  faced  the  waiter  and  resisted  him,  which  made 
him  angry,  and  again  he  said,  "  Get  out,  hurry  up !  " 
The  scene  was  so  ridiculous  that  it  set  all  in  the 
room  to  laughing. 

Finally  a  gentleman  came  up  to  the  waiter,  and 
said  something  which  I  did  not  understand,  but  I 
suppose  told  him  what  I  wanted,  for  the  waiter 
let  me  sit  down  at  the  table.  He  again  shoved  the 
pasteboard  under  my  eyes  and  pointed  with  his 
finger  to  the  things  printed  on  it.  I  put  two  of 
my  fingers  into  my  mouth,  and  acted  as  if  I  would 
chew  them,  and  said,  "Hurry  up,  get  out!"  He 
did  hurry  up  and  soon  came  back  with  a  plate  full 
of  beef  stew.  At  the  same  time  he  held  a  twenty- 
five  cent  piece  in  his  hand,  and  would  not  let  me 
eat  until  I  paid  him  a  like  piece  of  money,  which 
I  did,  and  was  then  permitted  to  eat  in  peace.  I 
ate  my  beef  stew  with  such  gusto  that  those  around 


i84  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

must  have  seen  that  I  was  starving,  for  when  I 
finished  they  filled  my  empty  plate  with  pieces  of 
beef  and  other  articles  from  their  own  plates,  and  I 
ate  until  I  could  eat  no  more.  I  then  said  "  Grazie  " 
(thanks),  bowed  to  them  gracefully,  and  went  out 
into  the  street. 

While  tramping  the  sidewalks  I  was  thinking 
where  I  should  pass  the  night.  The  weather  was 
quite  hot,  the  sky  clear  and  full  of  bright  stars. 
I  lay  down  upon  the  steps  of  a  fine  house,  and, 
while  I  was  wondering  if  those  stars  were  the  same 
I  used  to  gaze  at  in  Italy,  some  one  from  the  win- 
dow hallooed  "  Get  out !  "  and  I  went.  I  walked 
on  until  I  came  to  a  narrow  street  where  I  saw 
many  empty  waggons  on  one  side  near  the  kerb,  left 
there  for  the  night.  I  thought  I  might  use  one  of 
these  for  my  resting-place.  I  climbed  up  into  it,  laid 
down  upon  the  hard  boards,  and  was  soon  sleep- 
ing peacefully.  How  long  I  slept  I  do  not  know, 
but  it  seemed  a  very  short  time,  when  I  was  awak- 
ened by  a  fearful  racket,  as  though  the  powers  of 
the  infernal  regions  were  holding  carnival  in  the 
streets  of  the  city.  Men  and  women  having  on 
long  white  gowns  were  running  hither  and  thither, 
mothers  with  babies  in  their  arms,  fathers  carrying 
children  on  their  shoulders,  some  entirely  naked. 
Others  were  carrying  bundles  and  trunks  and  other 
household  goods,  all  screaming  at  the  top  of  their 
voices  one  word  which  I  had  not  yet  fixed  in  my 
mind.     The  confusion  and  the  shouts  were  inde- 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  FREE  185 

scribable.  Soon  I  heard  the  ringing  of  the  church 
bells,  and  by  and  by  I  saw  what  seemed  to  be  an 
army  of  men  attired  in  rubber  coats  with  a  helmet 
of  queer  shape  on  their  heads.  At  the  head  of 
this  army  were  a  few  men  on  horseback,  shouting 
instructions  through  a  silver  trumpet  to  the  men 
who  were  dragging  a  peculiar  looking  vehicle,  and 
crying  "  Hurry  up !  "  The  vehicle  looked  like  a  bar- 
rel lying  on  four  wheels,  and  from  the  centre  of  the 
barrel  something  arose  which  resembled  a  chimney, 
on  the  top  of  which  was  an  eagle  that  seemed  to  be 
made  of  gold.  Its  wings  were  spread  out  and  its  bill 
was  wide  open,  as  if  ready  to  shriek  out,  "  Hurry 
up !  Hurry  up !  "  Under  the  eagle  was  a  bell  which 
some  one  was  madly  ringing.  On  each  side  of  this 
queer  barrel-shaped  aiffair  were  poles  about  six  feet 
long,  lying  lengthwise  with  it  and  fastened  toi 
it  in  such  a  manner  that  it  gave  the  vehicle  the 
appearance  of  a  cradle.  Some  leather  coils,  looking 
like  black  snakes,  were  attached  to  a  part  of  the 
barrel. 

When  the  vehicle  came  to  a  stop  men  rushed  to 
it,  took  hold  of  the  poles,  and  at  once  were  rocking 
the  cradle  furiously,  shouting  to  each  other,  "  Hurry 
up !  "  The  noise  and  confusion — who  can  describe 
it?  Behind  the  funny  looking  vehicle,  I  saw 
waggons  carrying  long  ladders,  and  at  the  head  of 
each  was  a  man  with  a  trumpet  shouting  through 
it,  ''Men,  hurry  up,  hurry  up!"  This  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  word  which  had  greeted  my  ears  so 


i86  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

often  and  of  which  I  was  now  master,  "Fire! 
fire !  "  So,  I  had  learned  in  one  day  three  phrases, 
'"  hurry  up,"  "  get  out,"  and  "  fire."  Soon  the  men 
with  rubber  coats  and  helmets  came  very  near  me 
and  pushed  my  waggon  out  of  the  way  to  make  room 
for  the  black  snakes  which  they  were  now  dragging 
along  the  street.  One  of  the  men  took  hold 
of  an  end  of  the  coil,  and  I  was  surprised  to  see  a 
stream  of  water  coming  out  of  it.  He  lifted  the 
end  of  the  coil  and  made  the  water  go  up  to  the 
roof  of  the  next  house  from  where  I  was.  I  did 
not  know  what  it  all  meant,  but  soon  the  mystery 
was  revealed,  for  I  saw  flames  bursting  from  the 
windows  of  the  top  floor,  and  then  from  the  win- 
dows of  the  second  floor.  I  had  never  seen  anything 
of  the  kind,  and  was  enjoying  the  spectacle  im- 
mensely. It  amused  me  greatly  to  watch  the  fire- 
men; but  while  thus  deeply  interested  one  of  the 
black  snakes  burst,  and  I  was  drenched  from  head 
to  foot.  I  could  not  understand  why  the  water 
was  thrown  on  me,  and  I  looked  myself  over  to 
see  if  I  were  on  fire.  I  soon  realized  that  that  was 
not  the  place  for  me,  and  so  I  jumped  out  of  the 
waggon  and  ran  down  the  street  as  fast  as  my  legs 
would  carry  me.  I  did  not  stop  to  look  back,  for 
I  had  had  all  I  wanted  of  that  fire.  After  a  while 
I  came  to  an  open  place  which  looked  like  a  park; 
for  there  were  trees,  flowers,  plots  of  grass,  and 
some  big  buildings  around  it. 

It  was  City  Hall  Park.     While  roaming  about 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  FREE  187 

there  I  found  seats  long  enough  for  a  man  to  he 
down  on  and  sleep.  I  thought  I  would  make  one 
of  these  seats  my  bed  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 
It  was  near  daylight,  but  no  sooner  had  I  touched 
the  bench  than  I  fell  into  a  sound,  refreshing  sleep. 
While  thus  sleeping  I  felt  the  blow  of  a  heavy  club 
on  the  soles  of  my  feet.  I  must  have  jumped  three 
feet  into  the  air.  When  I  came  down  and  looked 
around,  there  before  me  stood  a  man  with  fiery  red 
hair,  and  a  nose  redder  than  the  hair.  His  eyes 
were  blood-shot,  his  mouth  was  an  exact  type  of 
the  bully,  and  looked  hard  and  cruel.  The  fellow 
was  laughing  at  my  trouble,  and  held  the  club  in 
the  air,  ready  to  strike  a  second  time.  A  crowd  had 
by  this  time  gathered  around,  all  looking  at  me 
sympathetically.  I  did  not  know  how  to  take  the 
insult,  so  I  spit  out  what  English  I  knew,  and  said, 
"  Hurry  up,  get  out,  fire !  "  At  hearing  these  words 
the  bully  struck  me  again.  As  I  fell  to  the  ground, 
I  heard  a  murmur  from  the  crowd  and  knew  nothing 
more.  When  I  came  to  myself  I  was  in  a  large 
room,  where  there  were  a  number  of  men  all  dressed 
in  blue  coats  of  blouse  shape,  blue  trousers  and 
leather  helmets.  A  man  in  citizen's  clothes  stood 
by  me.  He  had  a  kind  and  sympathetic  face,  and 
was  working  over  me.  I  guessed  him  to  be  a 
physician.  My  face  was  covered  with  perspiration, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  shoulders  must  be 
broken.  As  I  looked  around  and  saw  those  police- 
men with  the  queer  leather  helmets,  which  gave 


i88  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

them  the  name  of  "  leather  heads,"  I  was  reminded 
of  the  galley-slave  drivers.  They  seemed  unmerci- 
ful and  looked  hard.  The  only  one  in  the  room 
who  had  a  kind  face  was  the  physician. 

In  about  two  hours  I  was  taken  upstairs  into  a 
very  large  room,  where  there  were  many  people. 
I  was  in  court  and  before  the  judge.  Anxious 
thoughts  came  to  my  mind  just  then.  I  feared  it 
had  been  found  out  that  I  was  a  runaway  galley- 
slave.  I  trembled  at  the  idea  of  being  sent  back 
to  Italy,  yet  I  did  not  see  how  that  could  be,  as 
my  name  was  not  known.  When  I  entered  Castle 
Garden  no  question  had  been  asked.  All  I  did  was 
to  stay  on  a  bench  until  driven  away.  There  were 
no  stringent  laws  as  to  immigration  in  those  days. 
Any  one  could  come  to  America  and  be  welcomed, 
even  if  he  had  been  a  galley-slave.  Although  now 
we  have  many  laws  on  the  subject,  it  is  still  easy 
for  criminals  to  enter  the  United  States.  The  great 
mistake  is  that  the  government  looks  for  criminals 
among  the  steerage  immigrants,  whereas  they 
oftener  come  as  first-class  passengers,  and  of  these 
no  questions  are  asked. 

I  was  worried  because  there  was  no  one  to  de- 
fend me.  I  could  not  speak  English,  and  knew  that 
the  man  who  arrested  me  would  say  the  worst 
things  against  the  prisoner.  I  was  led  before  the 
judge,  and  the  officer  said  to  him  certain  things 
which  I  did  not  understand.  In  the  meantime  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  defend  myself  by  using  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  FREE  189 

few  English  words  that  I  knew.  The  judge  turned 
and  looked  at  me  kindly  and  began  to  ask  ques- 
tions, probably  as  to  my  name  and  address,  and 
where  I  came  from.  Then  he  paused  and  waited 
for  an  answer,  but  I  opened  not  my  mouth.  I  was 
simply  looking  around  the  room.  The  judge  spoke 
again,  this  time  in  a  rather  stern  manner;  but  as 
I  did  not  understand  what  he  said,  I  concluded  it 
was  time  for  me  to  make  my  defence,  and,  in  an 
excited  tone  I  shouted,  "  Hurry  up !  Get  out ! 
Fire !  "  The  effect  was  marvellous.  The  judge  rose 
to  his  feet,  and  looked  amazed.  All  in  the  room 
jumped  up  and  made  for  the  door,  repeating  the 
cry  of  "  Fire !  "  as  they  went.  The  policemen 
searched  for  the  fire,  and  when  they  found  none 
everybody  in  the  room  began  to  laugh  except  the 
judge,  who  took  hold  of  a  wooden  hammer  and 
rapped  on  the  table  several  times. 

When  order  was  restored  I  looked  at  the  judge 
and  saw  that  he  was  puzzled,  not  comprehending 
why  I  should  say  some  words  in  English  and  yet 
not  be  able  to  understand  what  he  said  to  me.  He 
continued  talking,  and  finally  it  came  to  my  mind 
that  he  wanted  to  know  my  nationality,  so  I  cried 
out,  "  Italiano,"  and  those  near  the  judge  said, 
"  Italian,  Italian."  Then  the  judge  called  an  officer 
and  gave  him  some  instruction.  The  officer  left 
the  room,  but  in  a  few  minutes  returned,  accom- 
panied by  another  man.  When  the  newcomer  stood 
before  the  judge  he  called  him  Signor  Pasini.     I 


190  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

knew  at  once  that  he  was  an  Italian,  and  rushed 
up  to  him,  threw  my  arms  around  him,  and  kissed 
him  just  as  if  he  had  been  my  own  father.  My 
eyes  were  filled  with  tears  of  joy,  and  I  said,  *'  God 
has  sent  you  to  save  and  defend  an  innocent  youth." 
Then  the  judge  said,  ''  Signor  Pasini,  I  have  called 
you  here  to  interpret  for  this  young  man,  for  he 
does  not  understand  our  language,  and  I  want  to  do 
him  justice.  But  before  we  proceed  with  the  trial, 
ask  him  why  he  answered  my  questions  in  English 
as  he  did."  I  replied  to  the  interpreter,  "  Because 
those  words  were  the  only  ones  I  knew  of  the  Eng- 
lish tongue,  and  I  thought  they  could  express  almost 
anything  in  that  language." 

Then  the  judge  called  the  officer  to  state  what 
the  charges  were  against  the  prisoner.  "  Your 
Honour,"  said  the  officer,  "  sleeping  in  the  park,  re- 
sisting arrest,  and  using  insulting  words  to 
an  officer  of  the  law."  Then  the  judge  turned  to 
me  and  said,  "  What  have  you  to  say  against  these 
charges  ?  Guilty,  or  not  guilty  ?  "  As  I  was  going 
to  answer  through  the  interpreter,  "  not  guilty,"  the 
physician  who  had  been  with  me  all  the  time  went 
up  to  the  judge  and  said,  "  Your  Honour,  I  was 
present  when  this  boy  was  cruelly  clubbed,  and  as 
an  eyewitness  I  can  give  you  a  correct  account 
of  the  shameful  affair."  The  judge  said,  "  Speak 
on." 

"  This  morning  at  about  eight  o'clock,"  said  the 
gentleman,   "  I  was  crossing  City  Hall  Park.     I 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  FREE  191 

saw  this  boy,  the  prisoner,  sleeping  on  one  of  the 
benches  along  one  of  the  walks  in  the  park.  At  the 
same  time  I  saw  this  officer  on  the  opposite  side 
walking  on  tiptoe  towards  the  sleeping  lad.  When 
he  got  to  where  the  lad  was  lying,  the  officer  took 
his  club  and  without  saying  a  word  struck  a  terrific 
blow  on  the  soles  of  his  feet.  The  boy  jumped 
about  three  feet  into  the  air,  gave  a  scream  of  pain, 
and  as  he  opened  his  eyes  I  noticed  he  was  bewil- 
dered; but  he  faced  the  officer,  who  was  standing 
before  the  youth  and  laughing  at  his  misery.  The 
lad  stared  at  the  officer  and  then  said  in  English, 
"  Hurry  up,  get  out,  fire !  "  At  these  words  the 
officer  struck  the  boy  with  his  club  a  second  blow, 
which  knocked  him  senseless  to  the  ground.  As 
a  physician  I  ran  to  the  spot.  The  officer  told 
me  I  had  no  business  to  touch  him,  but  he  cooled 
down  when  he  saw  the  crowd  around  and  heard 
them  cry  out,  *  Shame,  shame,  lynch  the  brute ! '  I 
noticed  that  the  crowd  was  pressing  hard  against 
the  officer;  therefore,  fearing  trouble  of  a  serious 
nature,  I  stood  up  and  said  aloud,  *  I  am  a  physician, 
and  the  boy  is  all  right,  for  he  is  not  seriously  hurt. 
Will  some  one  help  me  carry  him  to  the  nearest 
station  house  ?  '  We  brought  the  senseless  lad  there. 
As  we  laid  him  down  he  regained  consciousness. 
I  made  an  examination  of  his  feet  and  shoulders, 
but  found  no  bones  broken.  But  the  poor  youth 
suffered  much  pain,  and  I  gave  him  a  stimulant 
which  relieved  his  suffering.     I  stayed  with  him 


192  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

until  he  was  brought  before  your  Honour.  There 
are  three  men  in  this  court  who  are  ready  to  testify 
to  the  truth  of  the  facts  I  have  stated.  I  have 
volunteered  my  testimony  in  this  case  because  I 
know  your  Honour  desires  above  all  things  to  do 
justice,  and  because  the  boy  is  alone  and  feels  that 
he  has  been  unjustly  dealt  with.  My  office  is  at 
95  John  Street,  this  city." 

"  I  thank  you,  doctor,"  said  the  judge,  "  for  your 
kindness.  However,  this  case,  which  is  a  serious 
one,  is  out  of  my  jurisdiction.  It  belongs  to  the 
district  attorney,  and  he  must  settle  it.  My  duty 
is  to  discharge  the  prisoner,  and  commit  the  officer 
to  the  city  prison." 

Then  I  was  told  that  I  was  free  to  go.  I  asked 
Signor  Pasini  to  thank  the  court.  The  judge  said, 
"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  think  of  returning  thanks 
to  the  court,  but  I  want  you  to  understand  that 
this  is  a  free  country,  and  that  justice  is  dispensed 
to  all  alike.  It  makes  me  blush  to  think  that  an 
officer  of  the  law  should  so  forget  himself  as  to 
commit  such  an  outrage  and  thus  disgrace  our  land, 
as  well  as  break  the  laws  we  are  trying  to  uphold. 
Mr.  Pasini,  please  ask  the  young  man  if  he  has 
any  friends  in  America,  or  any  way  by  which  he 
can  make  a  living."  I  answered  through  the  inter- 
preter, "  I  am  alone,  but  if  it  is  desired  I  can  show 
this  honourable  court  how  I  can  make  my  liveli- 
hood." I  then  sang  that  beautiful  patriotic  song, 
"  Voi  Regina  delle  Genti."     When  I  got  through 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  FREE  193 

there  was  a  shower  of  applause.  The  judge  rapped 
for  order,  but  I  saw  that  he  was  pleased,  and  he  said, 
"  With  such  a  voice  there  is  no  fear  that  the  boy 
will  starve  or  become  a  charge  upon  the  govern- 
ment. Mr.  Pasini,  will  you  see  to  the  lad  ?  I  com- 
mend him  to  your  kindness."  "  1  will  do  my  best," 
said  the  interpreter  and  we  left  the  courtroom 
together. 

My  introduction  into  free  America  was  peculiar, 
and  entirely  contrary  to  the  expected  spirit  of  free- 
dom. I  could  not  understand  how  a  country  which 
did  not  even  allow  men  to  sleep  peacefully  could 
be  called  the  Land  of  the  Free.  Not  only  that,  but 
how  can  it  be  the  Home  of  the  Brave  when  a  fellow- 
being  is  unjustly  clubbed  in  a  cowardly  and  brutal 
manner  ? 


CHAPTER  XII 


THE  GREATER  LIBERTY 


MR.  PASINI  kept  a  plaster  of  Paris  orna- 
mental store  at  345  Broadway,  and  made 
statuary  of  that  material.  Hence  his  place 
was  a  kind  of  rendezvous  for  the  few  Italians  who 
were  then  in  New  York.  The  Italian  colony  could 
not  have  contained  more  than  three  hundred  of  the 
sons  of  Italy.  The  greater  part  of  these  were 
plaster  of  Paris  toy  vendors,  or  were  employed  in 
this  kind  of  ornamental  work.  This  gave  me  a 
splendid  opportunity  to  become  acquainted  with 
my  countrymen.  I  sang  several  times  in  the  Pasini 
establishment,  and  all  agreed  that  I  could  make 
money  by  the  use  of  my  voice  on  the  streets.  There 
were  few  street  musicians  in  the  city  at  that  time, 
but  to  go  about  singing  and  then  pass  my  hat  was 
utterly  repulsive  to  me.  I  could  not  bear  to  be 
classed  among  mendicants.  "  Let  me  work,"  I 
would  say  to  my  friends,  "  and  earn  my  bread  by 
the  sweat  of  my  brow  and  I  shall  be  content. 
Music  is  the  ruling  passion  of  my  nature,  but  street 
singing  and  being  paid  by  charity  is  opposed  to  my 
idea  of  an  honourable  living.     God  has  not  given 

194 


THE  GREATER  LIBERTY  195 

me  this  voice  to  encourage  mendicancy,  but  to  lead 
my  fellow-countrymen  to  a  better  way  of  self- 
support." 

Some  thought  that  my  being  unable  to  speak  the 
language  of  the  country  was  against  me,  and  they 
could  not  see  what  else  I  could  do  but  sing  on 
the  streets.  However, .  it  was  suggested  by  others 
that  as  I  was  young  and  strong,  I  might  associate 
myself  with  some  of  the  plaster  of  Paris  toy  ven- 
dors, and  thus  be  able  honestly  to  make  a  living.  I 
liked  the  idea,  for  that  would  throw  me  entirely 
among  English-speaking  people,  and  hence  I  would 
have  a  better  chance  to  learn  the  language.  So 
I  became  a  vendor  of  the  beautiful. 

During  those  days  the  American  people,  espe- 
cially those  living  in  the  country,  had  but  a  faint 
idea  of  ornamentation.  Their  homes  contained  little 
to  beautify  them.  In  their  parlours  almost  nothing 
of  an  ornamental  nature  was  to  be  seen,  except 
some  articles  of  necessary  furniture,  and  I  saw  my 
opportunity.  Whenever  I  went  into  a  home  and 
saw  no  ornaments  of  any  kind  on  the  mantlepiece, 
I  would  put  on  it  some  of  my  plaster  of  Paris  works, 
perhaps  a  flower-pot  in  the  centre,  and  on  each  side 
of  this  statuettes  and  other  artistic  objects.  The 
household  would  be  delighted,  the  children  would 
shout  for  pleasure,  and  all  would  say,  "  How  beauti- 
ful it  makes  the  room  look !  "  I  discovered  that  I 
was  doing  a  work  which  tended  to  diffuse  among 
the  people  a  love  for  the  beautiful  and  a  desire  to 


196  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

embellish  their  homes;  and  not  only  this,  but  the 
plaster  of  Paris  toys  would  gladden  the  hearts  of 
the  little  ones.  The  children  would  dance  at  the 
sight  of  these  simple  playthings.  It  made  me  for- 
get the  hardships  I  endured  in  tramping  from  place 
to  place,  sometimes  walking  from  twenty  to  forty 
miles  a  day  in  a  country  which  was  then  thinly 
settled  and  with  bad  roads,  fording  streams  and 
carrying  a  load  of  these  toys  from  fifty  to  seventy 
pounds  in  weight.  At  times  I  went  all  day  with- 
out anything  to  eat,  and  then  slept  in  the  open  air. 
Yet  I  was  well  repaid  when  I  saw  the  pleasure 
which  my  presence  and  the  toys  gave  the  children. 
Families  then  generally  lived  in  log  cabins,  for 
most  of  my  time  in  this  business  was  spent  in 
western  Illinois  and  Iowa. 

Some  had  an  idea  that  the  work  of  selling  plaster 
of  Paris  toys  was  degrading;  but  my  experience 
tells  me  that  it  was  both  honourable  and  useful.  In 
this  spirit  a  partnership  was  soon  formed  between 
myself  and  three  of  my  countrymen  to  enter  heart- 
ily into  the  business,  each  to  have  an  equal  share 
of  the  profits.  We  went  from  New  York  City  to 
Mansfield,  Ohio,  where  we  opened  a  small  store  and 
sold  toys  and  ornamental  works. 

In  the  meantime  I  had  written  to  my  parents  of 
my  escape,  and  my  arrival  in  free  America.  This 
news  greatly  cheered  the  heart  of  my  dear  mother, 
who  had  believed  that  I  was  dead,  for  no  news  of 
me  had  been  carried  to  my  parents  for  over  two 


THE  GREATER  LIBERTY  197 

years.  They  had  not  been  notified  of  my  escape, 
although  strange  men  had  been  to  Barga  to  make 
inquiry  about  me.  My  father  suspected  that  they 
were  spies.  One  thing  now  prevented  my  mother 
from  being  completely  happy,  and  this  was  that  so 
long  as  the  ruling  government  existed  I  could  not 
return  to  my  native  land,  for  I  was  a  proscript. 
But  I  firmly  believed  that  the  happy  day  was  not 
far  distant  when  w^e  should  see  a  united  Italy,  free 
and  powerful.  This  was  accomplished,  thanks  to 
a  merciful  God,  in  1870,  when  the  Papacy  as  a  tem- 
poral power  w^as  utterly  destroyed,  with  its  galley- 
slave  system  and  its  Galera. 

In  Mansfield  we  did  at  first  a  flourishing  business. 
As  the  town  was  small  we  soon  supplied  all  the 
homes  with  the  beautiful  in  our  line.  Then  each 
of  us  would  take  a  load  of  these  toys  and  go  out 
into  the  country.  We  found  good  customers  among 
the  farmers.  I  would  go  to  a  house  and  cry  out, 
"  Figurine  belle,  very  cheap !  "  and  as  these  two 
words  were  about  all  I  could  say  in  English  I  would 
stay  until  the  people  bought  something.  They  talked 
to  me  in  English,  and  sometimes  would  get  angry, 
but,  as  I  did  not  understand  them,  I  would  not 
move  an  inch.  So  they  had  to  buy  something  to 
get  rid  of  me.  I  w-as  sorry  when  I  had  learned 
the  language,  because  I  could  not  do  so  well  in 
my  business. 

Once  I  had  quite  an  experience  when  night  came 
on.     I  did  not  know  how  to  ask  for  a  night's  lodg- 


198  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

ing.  It  was  growing  dark  when  in  the  distance  I 
saw  a  log  cabin  with  a  porch  before  it,  and  seated 
on  this  porch  were  several  persons,  among  them 
three  young  ladies.  Evidently  they  had  been  work- 
ing all  day  and  were  now  enjoying  the  evening 
breeze.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  ask  in 
Italian,  in  a  very  polite  manner,  for  a  night's  lodg- 
ing. As  I  came  to  the  cabin  I  laid  down  my  load  of 
toys,  and  by  way  of  introduction  I  said,  "  Figurine 
belle,  very  cheap."  They  all  shook  their  heads  and 
said,  "  No."  Then,  not  knowing  how  to  make  my 
wants  understood,  I  thought  of  the  following  plan. 
As  there  was  space  enough  on  the  porch  floor,  I 
laid  down  and  stretched  myself  at  full  length;  then, 
closing  my  eyes,  I  snored  as  loud  as  I  could,  be- 
lieving that  by  my  so  doing  they  would  under- 
stand what  I  wanted.  When  I  put  the  thought  into 
action,  and  they  saw  me  in  that  position  and  heard 
me  snore,  they  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  The 
young  ladies  ran  into  the  house,  laughing  loudly. 
It  was  indeed  a  scene  to  cause  even  a  judge  on  the 
bench  to  smile.  When  I  got  up  I  saw  that  I  was 
not  fully  understood;  so  I  closed  my  eyes  again 
and  pointed  to  the  house.  Finally  my  actions  were 
comprehended,  for  my  load  of  toys  was  taken  inside 
the  cabin,  a  chair  was  given  me,  and  I  sat  down 
on  the  porch  with  the  rest. 

I  thought  that  a  song  would  please  them  and 
gain  their  good  will.  So,  while  they  were  talking 
and   still   laughing,    I   broke   out   in   singing   that 


THE  GREATER  LIBERTY  199 

beautiful  song,  *' Ronclinella  pellegrina  "  (The  Pil- 
grim Swallow).  At  the  first  note  there  was  perfect 
silence,  and  when  I  got  through  they  all  came 
around  me  and  gave  me  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand. 
I  was  taken  inside  the  cabin  and  made  to  sit  down, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  at  an  American  table. 
I  had  never  shared  American  hospitality,  and  I 
found  it  as  profuse  as  the  country  is  great,  and 
as  sincere  as  big  hearts  could  make  manifest.  That 
table  was  covered  with  everything  imaginable. 
There  were  set  before  me  all  kinds  of  preserves, 
blackberries,  strawberries,  raspberries,  currants, 
apple  butter,  peaches,  pears,  plums,  and  I  know  not 
what  else.  Meats  there  were  of  various  kinds,  hot 
biscuits,  cakes,  milk,  butter,  cheese,  eggs  (not 
cooked,  however,  in  hot  ashes),  and  everything  an 
American  palate  could  wish.  The  young  ladies  did 
not  eat  till  I  was  helped,  for  they  were  bent  on  serv- 
ing me,  and  they  kept  my  plate  full  of  the  good 
things. 

After  supper  we  went  again  on  the  porch,  and 
had  not  been  sitting  there  half  an  hour  when  two 
of  the  young  men  who  had  been  present  when  I 
sang,  came  back,  accompanied  by  a  number  of 
farmers,  old  and  young.  I  could  not  make  out 
where  all  these  people  had  come  from,  for  I  did 
not  see  any  habitations  around.  I  was  asked  to 
sing  again,  and  sang,  "  The  Flower  Girl  of  Borgo 
Pitti,"  which  delighted  those  kind-hearted  people. 
The  load  of  toys  was  again  brought  out  to  the  porch. 


200  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

and  every  piece  I  had  was  sold.  I  sang  once  more, 
and  those  who  had  come  returned  to  their  homes. 
Then  I  was  taken  by  one  of  the  young  men  to  a 
small  room  where  there  was  a  neat,  clean  bed,  and 
I  was  soon  sleeping  soundly.  In  the  morning  I 
was  called  to  breakfast,  but  none  were  there  except 
the  housekeeper  and  the  three  young  ladies.  After 
breakfast  one  of  the  young  ladies  gave  me  a  pen 
and  made  signs  for  me  to  write.  So  I  wrote  my 
full  name  and  that  of  the  town  of  Barga.  I  then 
took  leave  of  these  kind-hearted  people  and  re- 
turned to  Mansfield  with  my  pockets  full  of  money. 
Thus  my  first  journey's  experience  ended  in  the 
pleasant  and  profitable  occupation  of  educating 
people  to  appreciate  the  beautiful  in  art,  even  if  its 
form  came  in  the  material  of  plaster  of  Paris.  We 
stayed  in  that  town  a  few  weeks  longer,  then  moved 
farther  west,  and  afterwards  kept  moving  in  the 
same  manner  until  we  reached  Des  Moines,  Iowa, 
which  was  at  that  time  a  place  of  but  two  thousand 
inhabitants. 

It  was  while  in  this  town  that  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  I  entered  a  Protestant  church.  It  was 
Sunday  evening,  and  passing  a  frame  building  I 
saw  people  entering  it,  and  thought  that  it  might  be 
a  concert  hall,  for  it  did  not  look  like  a  church. 
Had  I  known  that  it  was  a  Protestant  church  no 
amount  of  money  would  have  induced  me  to  enter. 
As  I  stood  before  the  door  and  heard  the  people 
sing,  I  walked  in  and  took  a  seat.     After  a  few 


THE  GREATER  LIBERTY     20i 

minutes  a  man  stood  up  and  read  from  a  large  book. 
He  stopped  reading,  repeated  several  times  the 
words,  "  I  am  the  bread  of  life,"  and  then  began 
to  talk  about  them.  I  understood  much  that  he  said, 
for  it  was  a  sermon  about  Christ  as  the  true  bread 
of  life.  When  I  made  inquiry  I  was  told  that  it 
was  a  Methodist  church,  and  I  trembled  at  tlie 
thought  that  I  had  committed  a  tnortal  sin,  for  this 
I  had  been  taught  to  believe  would  be  the  fact  if 
I  should  enter  a  Protestant  church.  When  the 
service  was  over  I  skipped  out  of  the  building  with 
a  guilty  conscience,  saying  to  myself,  "After  this 
I  will  see  to  it  that  the  devil  shall  not  lead  me 
again  into  that  trap." 

We  soon  moved  to  Fairfield,  Iowa,  and  while 
there  we  gave  up  the  business  of  selling  plaster  of 
Paris  images,  and  established  a  meat  market.  This 
town  is  to  me  more  interesting  than  any  other  in 
the  world,  for  here  I  was  made  a  new  man  in  Christ 
Jesus.  Fairfield  was  then  the  terminus  of  the  Bur- 
lington Railroad.  It  was  alive  with  business.  The 
hotels  and  boarding  houses  were  crowded  and  there 
was  a  large  force  of  men  working  on  the  railroad. 
We  had  several  thousand  dollars  which  we  had 
made  in  our  former  occupation  and  so  could  buy 
cattle  for  cash,  and  sell  the  meat  on  credit.  As  long 
as  the  money  lasted,  we  had  a  heavy  trade,  but 
when  we  came  to  collect  our  bills  we  found  it  hard 
work,  and  could  not  get  enough  money  to  keep  up 
the  business.     In  less  than  a  year  we  failed,  and 


202  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

lost  nearly  all  we  had.  We  had  nearly  four  thou- 
sand dollars  when  we  went  into  the  meat  market; 
when  we  settled  our  accounts  the  amount  that  came 
to  me  was  only  $172.00.  However,  I  fully  believe 
that  it  was  so  ordained  that  I  might  be  led  into  the 
Christian  ministry,  to  which  God  had  called  me 
from  the  beginning.  In  fact  everything  that  has 
happened  in  my  life,  sad,  hard,  or  pleasing,  tends 
to  show  how  divine  Providence  brought  me  into 
the  blessed  service  of  preaching  the  Gospel  to  my 
dear  countrymen. 

When  we  came  to  Fairfield,  as  I  now  spoke  and 
understood  English  pretty  well,  it  was  decided  that 
I  should  stay  in  the  meat  market  and  wait  on  cus- 
tomers. This  enabled  me  to  become  acquainted  with 
many  people.  My  most  intimate  friend  was  Cyrus 
E.  Carpenter,  a  harness  maker,  with  whom  I  lodged 
in  Fairfield.  I  used  to  call  him  Simon  the  Tanner, 
with  whom  the  Apostle  Peter  lodged  in  Joppa,  for, 
like  Simon,  he  was  full  of  Christian  zeal,  hospital- 
ity, and  in  all  he  said,  he  exemplified  the  spirit  of 
his  Master  and  Saviour.  The  only  thing  that  made 
me  shy  of  him  was  that  he  belonged  to  the  hated 
sect  of  Protestants.  What  made  me  specially  like 
him  was  his  beautiful  voice.  He  sang  most  sweetly 
tlie  hymns  of  his  church.  We  soon  loved  each 
other  like  brothers,  and  became  inseparable.  He 
was  one  of  those  Christians  who  are  full  of  re- 
ligious zeal  bordering  on  asceticism,  yet  he  was  very 
prudent  in  talking  to  me  about  religion.     He  did 


THE  GREATER  LIBERTY  203 

not  bring  up  the  subject  unless  the  occasion  was 
opportune,  or  I  had  spoken  of  it  myself. 

It  so  happened  that  in  the  Methodist  church, 
under  the  pastorate  of  the  Rev.  Peter  Halzinser, 
there  was  a  powerful  revival  of  the  grace  of  God. 
My  friend,  who  was  a  member  of  that  church,  would 
tell  me  of  the  wonderful  conversions  that  took  place, 
how  some  men  who  were  slaves  to  strong  drink,  and 
because  of  it  would  neglect  their  families,  had  be- 
come sober,  and  provided  well  for  their  wives  and 
children;  and  how  some  who  were  in  the  habit  of 
making  free  use  of  profane  language  had  been  re- 
formed. This  touched  me  in  a  very  tender  spot, 
for,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  I  was  like  most  foreigners 
who  come  to  America,  since  among  the  first  words 
they  acquire  of  the  English  language  are  profanity 
and  coarse  speech.  As  I  listened  to  him  I  began  to 
wish  that  he  would  invite  me  to  attend  the  revival 
meetings.  Once  when  he  returned  from  the  church 
I  said,  "  Brother  Simon,  what  should  I  do  to  get 
religion?  "  The  answer  was  brief  but  to  the  point. 
He  said,  *'  Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and 
thou  shalt  be  saved,"  and  added,  "  If  you  had  been 
at  church  to-night  you  would  have  heard  a  great 
discourse.  Our  pastor  preached  a  wonderful  ser- 
mon on  Christ  as  our  Great  High  Priest,  to  whom 
we  should  make  confession  of  our  sins."  "  What!  " 
I  said,  "  do  you  have  a  priest  in  your  church  to 
whom  you  confess?  "  "  Certainly,"  was  the  reply, 
"  we  have  Jesus  Christ  as  our  High  Priest,  and  He 


204  IN  ITALY  AND  A^IERICA 

is  the  only  priest  to  whom  confession  is  to  be 
made." 

This  made  a  profound  impression  upon  me.  I 
had  not  "  confessed  "  since  I  left  the  Galera,  where 
we  were  compelled  to  confess  to  the  chaplain  once 
a  month.  Therefore  I  felt  the  need  of  real  con- 
fession. So  on  that  night  I  began  to  examine 
myself,  and  soon  saw  that  my  sins  were  so  numer- 
ous that  I  could  not  recall  them  all  to  mind.  I  felt 
that  I  could  not  wait  any  longer,  and  the  next 
night  determined  to  go  to  church  with  my  friend. 

When  evening  came  I  said,  "  My  dear  brother, 
I  should  like  to  go  to  your  church."  "  Oh !  I  shall 
be  delighted  to  have  you  go  with  me,"  was  the 
reply,  and  we  went  there  together. 

My  friend  wished  me  to  go  to  the  front  part  of 
the  church,  but  as  I  was  a  stranger  I  preferred  to 
sit  near  the  door.  So  he  left  me  there  and  went  to 
sit  near  the  pulpit.  While  I  sat  there  I  was  charmed 
with  the  impressive  singing  of  the  congregation.  I 
had  never  heard  hymns  sung  with  such  spirit  and 
with  such  earnest  feeling  as  by  that  large  congrega- 
tion. It  fairly  made  the  large  building  tremble. 
Such  singing  is  not  to  be  heard  in  many  Methodist 
churches  to-day,  either  with  or  without  a  vested 
choir.  The  pastor  preached  a  second  sermon  upon 
Christ  as  our  High  Priest  and  at  the  close  invited 
all  who  felt  the  need  of  absolution  to  come  to  the 
altar  and  pray  to  Christ.  I  knew  what  "  absolu- 
tion "  meant,  for  that  was  the  word  used  by  Italian 


THE  GREATER  LIBERTY  205 

priests  at  the  end  of  the  confession,  and  as  I  saw 
my  friend  coming  to  me,  I  said,  "  Dear  Simon,  I 
would  like  to  make  a  confession  to  the  Great  His:h 
Priest,  about  whom  I  have  heard  so  much  to-night." 
"  Praise  be  to  God!  "  said  he;  "  come  with  me." 

When  we  arrived  in  front  of  the  altar,  I  saw 
before  it  a  long  seat  called  the  "  mourner's  bench," 
a  thing  which  has  practically  ceased  to  exist  in  the 
church.  Of  course  I  knew  of  no  other  way  by 
which  I  could  make  confession  to  the  invisible  High 
Priest,  but  to  do  as  when  I  confessed  to  the  priest. 
That  is,  I  must  acknowledge  the  particular  sin  I 
had  committed,  and  state,  as  near  as  I  could  re- 
member, the  number  of  times  it  had  been  committed 
by  me.  HI  had  used  any  sinful  word,  I  was  to 
repeat  the  same,  for  I  had  an  impression  that  the 
Great  High  Priest  must  be  somewhere  near  so  that 
He  could  hear  me.  I  knelt,  therefore,  at  that  bench 
where  there  were  already  many  penitents,  and  I 
began  in  a  loud  voice  to  repeat  all  the  profane  words 
I  had  said.  Those  around  me  were  greatly  scandal- 
ized to  see  a  man  kneel  there  and  make  use  of  such 
language,  and  they  looked  at  me  in  great  surprise. 
However,  when  I  said  loud  enough  to  be  heard  all 
over  the  church,  "  I  have  said  more  than  fifty  times. 
Go  to  the  devil !  "  a  man  with  snow-white,  flowing 
beard  laid  his  hands  upon  my  shoulders  and  said, 
"  Young  man,  why  do  you  use  such  language  in 
the  house  of  God?  You  must  stop  that  at  once,  or 
I  shall  have  to  put  you  out." 


2o6  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

I  looked  up  at  him,  astonished  that  he  should 
interrupt  me  in  my  confession,  and  said,  "  I  am 
making  confession."  "  Oh,"  he  said  quickly,  "  I 
see.  You  are  a  Roman  Catholic.  I  was  one  myself, 
and  used  to  make  confession  much  as  you  are  doing; 
but  I  have  learned  that  God  knows  all  things,  and 
knows  how  many  sins  we  have  committed.  All  he 
wants  us  to  do  is  to  repent.  I  believe  now  that  it 
is  an  insult  to  God  to  tell  Him  our  sins  one  by 
one,  for  in  so  doing  we  deny  one  of  His  great 
attributes,  His  omniscience." 

I  saw  at  once  that  the  oral  confession  to  the 
priest  was,  often  at  least,  nothing  but  mockery  to 
God.  While  "  Father  Wilson  "  was  thus  reasoning 
with  me  my  friend  came  up,  and  asked  me  how  I 
felt.  I  answered,  "  All  right,  thank  God."  Then 
he  said,  "  Blessed  be  God !  You  have  got  religion ; 
stand  up  and  praise  God."  I  did  as  I  was  told. 
While  I  stood  I  began  to  do  what  I  saw  others 
doing.  I  threw  my  arms  this  way  and  that,  shout- 
ing at  the  same  time,  "  Glory  to  God !  Hallelujah !  " 
My  friend  grew  very  much  excited,  and  could  not 
control  his  feelings.  He  believed  that  I  was  truly 
converted,  and  his  emotion  was  so  great  that  he  soon 
began  to  throw  up  his  arms  and  clap  his  hands. 
A  tremor  passed  over  his  frame,  and  then  he  fell 
down  upon  the  floor  like  one  dead.  When  I  saw 
that,  I  ceased  shouting,  for  I  was  afraid  that  I 
might  get  into  the  same  condition  myself.  It  took 
all  the  shouting  tendency  out  of  me.    I  asked  if  my 


THE  GREATER  LIBERTY  207 

friend  was  dead,  and  was  told  that  he  had  been 
overpowered  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  that  he  had  simply 
gone  into  a  trance,  and  that  he  would  soon  come 
to  himself  again.  We  watched  around  him  for 
about  two  hours,  when  with  a  shout  he  stood  up, 
and  said,  "  Glory  to  God !  "  All  repeated  the  same 
expression,  and  then  we  went  home.  He  never  re- 
ferred to  what  had  happened,  but  that  night  Simon 
talked  to  me  simply,  and  in  a  way  that  made  me  feel 
what  it  is  to  be  a  Christian. 

I  was  led  in  an  intelligent  manner  to  realize  my 
real  condition  before  God.  I  saw  how  without 
reason  I  had  offended  a  just  and  perfectly  pure  God. 
I  felt  that  I  w^as  lost  and  undone,  and,  by  what  my 
friend  said,  was  led  to  believe  upon  Christ  as  my 
Saviour  and  my  all.  As  I  threw  myself  on  the 
mercies  of  God  and  accepted  Jesus  as  my  Great 
High  Priest  who  had  given  His  life  to  save  me, 
oh,  what  sweet  peace  came  to  my  troubled  heart! 
Joy  like  a  river  flowed  into  my  redeemed  soul.  It 
seemed  as  if  everything  around  me  had  been  trans- 
formed into  all  that  was  pure  and  angelic.  The 
happiness  of  that  moment  will  never,  never  be  for- 
gotten. 

The  first  thought  that  came  to  my  mind,  as 
soon  as  I  realized  the  great  change  through  which 
I  had  passed,  was  of  my  dear  parents.  How  I 
wished  that  my  dear  mother  could  experience  the 
same  happiness;  and  the  second  thought  was  that  I 
must  prepare  myself  to  go  back  to  my  native  land 


2o8  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

and  preach  the  Gospel  to  my  people.  At  the  time 
of  my  conversion,  in  1858,  Italy  was  closed  to  the 
Bible.  It  was  just  then  that  the  Madai  family  in 
Florence  were  put  into  prison  because  a  little  Bible 
was  found  in  their  home.  Preaching  the  Gospel,  as 
well  as  reading  the  Bible,  was  then  prohibited  by 
law.  But  I  felt  that  soon  the  day  would  come  when 
we  should  have  a  free  and  united  Italy,  and  that, 
by  the  time  the  door  would  open  and  religious 
freedom  be  enjoyed  by  all  the  people  of  that  land, 
I  should  be  prepared  to  preach. 

In  1870,  just  as  I  graduated  from  the  Boston 
Seminary,  the  army  of  Victor  Immanuel  made  a 
breach  in  the  Porta  Pia  and  entered  the  Eternal 
City.  Thus  the  temporal  power  of  the  Pope  was 
crushed,  never  again  to  disgrace  civilization. 

The  Almighty  had  willed  that  the  Iowa  Annual 
Conference  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church 
should  meet  that  very  fall  in  the  town  of  Fairfield. 
I  believe  it  was  so  ordained  that  the  way  might  be 
opened  for  me  to  prepare  for  the  Christian  ministry. 
It  is  customary  for  every  Annual  Conference  of 
that  Church  to  have  a  "  love  feast "  on  Sunday 
during  its  session,  which  service  is  open  to  every- 
body. I  was  present  at  it,  and  at  a  certain  point  I 
stood  up  before  that  body  of  more  than  two  hun- 
dred Christian  ministers,  and  in  a  simple  way  gave 
the  history  of  my  conversion.  In  closing  I  said, 
"  Brethren,  I  feel  that  God  has  called  me  to  go 
back  to  my  native  land  to  preach  to  my  people 


THE  GREATER  LIBERTY  209 

Christ,  and  Christ  crucified  for  our  sins."  There 
was  great  shouting  all  over  the  church,  and  every- 
where the  expression,  "  Glory  to  God !  Hallelujah !  " 
was  heard.  I  continued,  "  Brethren,  you  all  know 
that  to-day  Italy  is  closed  to  the  preaching  of  the 
Gospel,  but  I  predict  that  the  time  is  soon  coming 
when  we  shall  have  religious  toleration  in  that  land; 
yes,  when  we  shall  have  an  Italian  Conference  of 
the  Methodist  Church  with  sessions  held  under  the 
eaves  of  the  Vatican,  and  I  shall  be  a  member  of 
that  Conference."  The  people  could  no  longer  keep 
back  their  pent-up  feeling.  It  burst  forth  like  a 
storm.  The  preachers  jumped  to  their  feet  all 
over  the  house.  Nothing  else  could  be  heard  for 
more  than  a  few  minutes  but  the  shouts,  "Amen, hal- 
lelujah! glory  to  our  great  Master,  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ!"  It  was  said  afterwards  that  the  Con- 
ference had  been  set  on  fire  with  religious  zeal  by 
this  incident. 

At  the  close  of  the  service  a  venerable  man  came 
up  to  me  with  eyes  still  wet  with  tears  of  joy,  and 
said,  "  My  dear  brother,  I  am  most  happy  to  meet 
you.  I  am  not  an  Italian,  but  I  love  Italy  dearly, 
and  have  often  prayed  that  God  would  open  the 
way  for  the  Gospel  to  be  proclaimed  in  that  beauti- 
ful land.  Since  I  heard  you  speak,  I  believe  that 
you  have  been  called  to  the  Christian  ministry,  and 
to  carry  the  good  news  to  your  own  people.  I  am 
an  Irishman,  and  I  have  been  like  yourself  a  Roman 
Catholic,  but  now  I  enjoy  this  free  religion,  and 


2IO  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

hold  the  true  Christian  faith.  I  am  the  president 
of  the  Iowa  Wesleyan  University  at  Mt.  Pleasant. 
Our  school  opens  Monday  of  next  week.  I  should 
be  glad  to  have  you  come,  and  we  will  do  all  we 
can  to  help  you  prepare  for  your  future  work." 

The  speaker  was  the  Rev.  Charles  Elliott,  D.D., 
LL.D.,  author  of  "  Delineations  of  Roman  Catholi- 
cism." 

Arrangements  were  made  for  me  to  go  to  Mt. 
Pleasant  at  once.  The  only  drawback  was  that  I 
must  leave  my  good  brother  who  had  led  me  to 
Christ. 

I  am  no  prophet,  but  all  that  I  predicted  at  that 
love  feast  came  true.  Not  only  an  Italian  Methodist 
Episcopal  Conference  was  organized  in  Rome,  but  in 
that  very  city  I  was  ordained  to  the  Christian 
ministry  by  that  noble  servant  of  the  Lord,  Bishop 
Matthew  Simpson,  and  was  probably  the  first  Prot- 
estant minister  ever  ordained  in  the  city  of  Rome. 
God  be  praised  for  His  great  mercy  and  loving 
kindness ! 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE  STUDENT 


1WAS  converted  during  the  winter  of  1858,  and 
in  the  fall  of  the  same  year  entered  the  Iowa 
Wesleyan  University.  My  education  having 
been  sadly  neglected,  all  that  I  claimed  to  know  was 
how  to  read  and  write  my  own  language,  and  some- 
thing of  English.  Now  began  my  struggle  to  climb 
the  hill  of  learning.  Poverty  beset  me  on  every 
side,  for  all  the  money  I  had  when  I  entered  college 
was  $65.75,  ^  small  sum  with  which  to  pursue  a 
course  ot  studies  for  eight  years.  But  my  faith  in 
God  made  me  feel  confident  that  in  some  way  or 
other  I  would  be  provided  with  all  things  needed. 
When  I  went  to  Mt.  Pleasant  the  first  thing  I 
did  was  to  find  a  room  in  which  to  study  and  make 
my  home.  Over  a  grocery  store  not  far  from  the 
college  was  a  garret  room  which  I  rented,  paying 
two  dollars  a  month.  So  for  room  rent  and  all  fur- 
nishings, I  spent  $12.15.  For  three  months  I  lived 
"  the  simple  life,"  which  no  man  would  care  to  live 
in  this  age  of  high  living.  My  breakfast  was  bread 
and  milk,  minus  butter;  dinner,  bread  and  boiled 
potatoes  with  salt;  supper,  bread  and  water,  as  I 


212  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

could  not  afford  to  have  milk  twice  a  day.  So  I  lived 
the  real  simple  life,  and  so  simple  it  was,  that  I  slept 
well,  and  was  never  troubled  with  the  nightmare. 

When  thus  settled  I  began  to  study.  First  came 
English  grammar,  that  I  might  become  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  English  language.  My  studies 
here  were  all  of  a  preparatory  nature.  The  needed 
books  were  provided  free  by  the  college,  and  so  was 
my  tuition.  I  was  very  ambitious  and  studied  hard, 
even  going  beyond  my  strength.  The  difficulties 
were  indeed  great.  However,  "where  there  ii  a 
will  there  is  a  way."  I  had  the  will  and  Christ  Jesus 
opened  my  way.  Whether  it  was  because  of  hard 
study  or  the  poor  food  one  day  I  began  to  feel  very 
dizzy,  and  when  I  went  home  I  threw  myself  down 
on  my  bed  of  straw.  Next  morning  I  made  an 
attempt  to  rise,  but,  as  I  did  so,  everything  about 
the  room  seemed  to  whirl  and  I  fell  upon  the  bed. 
I  lay  there  for  a  long  time,  unable  to  move,  or 
hardly  to  lift  my  hand.  It  was  growing  dark, 
there  was  no  fire  in  the  stove,  and  it  was  quite 
cold.  I  was  able  to  draw  up  my  overcoat,  although 
soon  I  did  not  feel  the  cold.  I  felt  as  if  on 
fire.  Before  long  the  grocer  closed  his  store  and 
went  home.  I  was  alone  in  the  little  building. 
How  I  dreaded  to  pass  the  long  hours  of  the  night 
in  that  cheerless  room;  all  around  me  was  still  as 
death.  If  there  had  been  a  clock  so  I  could  hear 
it  tick,  or  if  little  mice  were  running  about  the  floor, 
it  would  have  brought  comfort  to  my  desolate  heart. 


THE  STUDENT  213 

There  was  no  fire,  no  light;  only  the  reflection  of 
the  white  snow  outside  faintly  illumined  the  place. 
It  was  mid-winter  and  very  cold,  but  I  did  not  know 
it,  for  I  was  burning  with  high  fever.  Oh !  how  I 
prayed  for  the  precious  and  blessed  daylight  to 
come.  At  last  the  grocer  came  and  opened  the 
store.  I  could  hear  him  from  the  garret  room, 
and  tried  to  make  some  sound  that  he  would  hear, 
but  that  horrid  dizziness  prevented. 

There  I  lay  alone  for  two  long  days  on  that  bed 
suffering  and  restless.  I  said  to  myself,  "  Must  this 
be  the  end  of  my  great  desire  to  preach  the  good 
news  of  salvation  to  my  own  people?  Am  I  to  die 
here?  Oh!  blessed  Master,  Thou  hast  called  me, 
Thou  hast  been  very  kind  to  me,  for  Thou  hast 
spoken  peace  to  my  troubled  heart:  Thy  will  be 
done."  It  was  growing  dark  again,  and  I  dreaded 
unspeakably  to  pass  another  night  in  that  condition. 
"  God,  be  merciful !  "  I  said,  and,  as  I  uttered  these 
words,  I  heard  the  door  of  the  garret  room  open 
and  in  walked  a  good  friend  and  fellow-student. 
He  asked  what  was  the  matter,  but  I  was  so  ex- 
hausted that  when  I  attempted  to  answer  the  dizzi- 
ness came  on,  and  I  knew  nothing  more  until  the 
next  day,  when  I  found  myself  in  a  beautiful  room, 
on  a  nice,  comfortable  bed,  surrounded  by  sympa- 
thizing friends.  I  had  been  carried  to  the  home  of 
a  Mr.  Gray  near  by.  It  seemed  that  one  of  the 
professors,  having  missed  me  for  two  days  in  the 
class,  asked  the  students  if  any  one  had  seen  the 


214  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

student  from  Italy.  No  answer  came,  and  tlien  the 
professor  asked  Mr.  Jacoby  to  call  at  my  room,  and 
see  what  was  the  cause  of  my  absence.  The  latter 
at  once  saw  my  condition,  went  downstairs,  told  the 
grocer  that  he  thought  I  w'as  in  a  dying  condition, 
and  asked  him  to  go  quickly  for  a  doctor.  I  was 
informed  that  the  physician  watched  by  my  bed  all 
night.  When  I  regained  consciousness  there  were 
three  physicians  present.  On  its  becoming  known 
in  the  town  what  had  happened,  many  came  with 
offers  of  help.  In  a  few  days,  when  taken  back  to 
my  garret,  there  was  a  great  surprise  awaiting  me. 
The  walls  of  the  room  had  been  papered,  a  new 
stove  had  been  bought,  and  a  double  bed  was  there. 
My  kind  classmate  had  become  my  room-mate. 
Carpet  was  on  the  floor,  and  plenty  of  dishes  were 
in  the  cupboard,  with  everything  to  make  that  room 
comfortable.  It  looked  beautiful  in  my  eyes,  and 
we  spent  many  happy  days  in  that  garret  room. 

After  four  weeks  I  was  strong  enough  to  go  on 
with  my  studies.  Also  able  to  do  jobs  for  the 
town  folks,  such  as  sawing  and  splitting  wood,  and 
whatsoever  Providence  would  put  into  my  hands. 
I  had  a  standing  job  with  the  president  of  the  col- 
lege. I  was  to  go  to  his  residence,  clean  his  stable, 
attend  to  his  horse,  then  to  sit  down  at  his  table 
and  have  a  good  breakfast.  Thus  I  was  able  to 
work  out  my  education  with  fear  and  trembling.  I 
believe  that  an  education  thus  acquired  is  highly 
appreciated  and  its  great  value  better  understood. 


THE  STUDENT  215 

Yes !  with  King  David,  I  could  say,  "  It  is  to  be  de- 
sired more  than  gold;  yea,  than  much  fine  gold." 

The  cause  of  my  severe  sickness  was  lack  of 
proper  nourishment.  On  the  whole  I  made  rapid 
progress  in  the  study  of  English,  and  before  the 
scholastic  year  closed  I  had  begun  the  various 
studies  for  my  preparation  to  enter  college. 

From  my  frequently  taking  part  in  church  meet- 
ings the  officials  saw  that  I  could  do  good  work 
as  an  evangelist.  They  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
if  I  attended  the  various  camp  meetings  during  the 
summer  I  might  be  useful,  and  at  the  same  time 
receive  help  to  enable  me  to  continue  my  studies 
at  the  college  the  ensuing  year. 

When  the  arrangements  were  made  for  Com- 
mencement day.  President  Elliott  asked  me  if  I 
would  not  make  a  speech  in  Italian.  I  said,  "  I  will 
gladly  do  so,  doctor,"  and  so  was  called  on  at  the 
right  time  in  the  programme.  There  was  probably 
not  a  single  person  in  the  audience  who  understood 
a  word  I  said.  I  spoke  for  about  ten  minutes,  and 
by  my  enthusiastic  delivery  and  the  musical  flow 
of  the  Italian  language  that  great  audience  seemed 
spellbound.  When  I  had  finished  my  address,  with- 
out any  one  suspecting  what  I  was  going  to  do,  I 
broke  out  into  an  Italian  song  which  set  the  assembly 
wild.  It  was  the  Garibaldi  war  song.  I  had  no 
idea  that  the  American  people  could  be  so  easily 
moved,  but  when  I  got  through  the  whole  audience 
stood  up  and  cheered  and  encored.    I  sat  down,  but 


2i6  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

all  kept  standing  and  applauding  until  I  consented 
to  sing  the  same  melody  again.  Being  then  in  the 
prime  of  youth  my  voice  must  have  been  at  its  best. 
At  the  close  of  the  exercises  I  received  a  little  too 
much  Western  handshaking,  for  my  hand  was 
swollen  and  sore  after  it.  This  was  the  first  time 
I  had  sung  before  an  American  audience,  and  it 
'made  a  real  hit. 

Just  then  I  received  a  letter  which  crushed  me 
almost  to  the  earth.  It  was  from  my  dear  parents. 
I  had  written  them  about  the  happy  change  wrought 
in  my  heart  by  the  Spirit  of  God;  how  I  had  found 
the  Saviour  precious  to  my  soul,  and  that  Christ 
was  my  all  and  in  all.  My  letter  to  them  was  full 
of  good  wishes,  and  expressed  a  strong  desire  that 
they  also  might  enjoy  the  same  blessing,  and  know 
the  power  of  Christ  to  save  from  sin.  My  parents 
did  not  understand  fully  what  I  had  written,  so 
they  carried  the  letter  to  their  parish  priest,  who 
was  none  other  than  my  old  enemy,  Gigi. 

Gigi  and  his  mother  never  forgave  me  the  humili- 
ation I  had  brought  upon  him  and  his  family  when 
he  attempted  to  climb  the  Liberty  pole  and  failed. 
My  letter  gave  them  an  opportunity  to  be  revenged. 
The  mother  of  Gigi  had  predicted  that  I  would 
become  a  Protestant,  and  her  son  a  priest  of  the 
Holy  Catholic  Church,  and  so  it  had  happened. 
When  the  priest  read  my  letter  to  my  parents,  he 
fairly  gloated  over  it.  He  threw  it  upon  the  floor, 
put  his  foot  upon  it,  and  said,  "  Do  you  not  under- 


THE  STUDENT  217 

stand  this  letter?  I  fear  not.  I  will  tell  you  what 
it  means.  It  says  that  your  son,  the  galley-slave 
who  ran  away  to  America,  has  become  what  my 
mother  predicted  years  ago,  a  Protestant,  and  is 
now  a  castaway  from  the  Church,  an  excom- 
municated heretic,  and  forever  lost."  At  these 
words  my  poor  mother  acted  as  if  she  would  lose 
her  reasoning  and  went  about  the  house  moan- 
ing, "My  poor  boy,  he  is  lost;  yes,  forever  lost. 
I  shall  never  see  him  again  in  this  world."  Gigi 
added  in  a  malignant  tone  of  voice,  "  or  in  the 
world  to  come."  He  said  to  my  parents,  "  It  is 
your  duty  as  faithful  members  of  the  Holy  Catholic 
Church  to  heap  maledictions  upon  your  renegade 
son.  He  is  no  longer  your  son,  but  a  heretic,  and 
as  such  a  child  of  the  devil."  Then,  seeing  that 
my  mother  was  broken-hearted,  the  priest  con- 
cluded, "But  be  of  good  courage;  there  is  still 
hope;  the  Church  has  made  provision  to  receive 
back  into  her  fold  any  who  sincerely  recant 
the  error  of  their  way."  Then  he  paused,  and 
said: 

"  Signor  Notaro,  it  is  your  duty  to  do  all  in  your 
power  to  win  back  the  erring  boy.  Use  your 
authority  as  his  father;  write  him  and  entreat  him 
for  the  sake  of  his  sorrowing  mother  to  come  back 
to  the  religion  in  which  he  was  baptized.  In  a  case 
like  this  you  have  the  right  to  use  severe  measures, 
yea,  even  to  take  his  life."  Just  at  this  moment 
Gigi's  mother  came  into  the  room.    First,  she  looked 


2i8  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

at  her  son,  saw  tliat  he  was  much  excited,  and 
noticed  that  under  his  foot  was  a  letter.  She  said 
to  him  in  a  tone  of  command,  "  What  is  that  thing 
on  which  you  hold  your  foot?"  The  priest  an- 
swered, "  It  is  a  letter  from  the  heretic  boy  Tonio, 
the  son  of  these  dear  people."  Then  the  woman 
with  a  dry  laugh  snatched  the  letter  from  under  the 
priest's  foot,  and  holding  it  up  cried  out,  "  This  is 
the  fruit  of  your  love  for  that  renegade  boy  of 
yours.  I  knew  from  the  beginning  that  he  would 
end  by  giving  his  body  to  the  heretics  and  his  soul 
to  the  devil."  Then  she  threw  the  letter  at  her  feet, 
stamped  on  it  three  times  like  an  enraged  tiger,  and 
said: 

"In  the  name  of  Mary,  mother  of  God;  in  the 
name  of  Jesus,  her  beloved  son;  and  in  the  name  of 
God  himself,  may  the  head  of  that  rebellious  son 
of  yours  be  crushed  as  I  have  trampled  on  this 
letter!" 

At  these  words  my  mother  fled  from  the  room, 
so  shocked  was  she  at  the  heartless  language  used 
by  that  woman,  and  at  the  hatred  she  manifested 
towards  her  child. 

When  Gigi's  mother  saw  how  grieved  my  mother 
was,  and  how  the  tears  poured  down  her  cheeks, 
she  said,  "  Signor  Notaro,  I  sympathize  with  you 
in  this  great  sorrow,  and  my  son,  I  know,  will  do 
all  he  can  to  advise  you  how  to  win  back  your  boy 
to  our  holy  religion." 

Then  she  went  away  and  Gigi  urged  my  father 


THE  STUDENT  219 

to  use  his  authority  and  compel  the  young  man  to 
recant. 

"  He  will  have  to  do  penance  for  a  couple  of 
years,  but  the  Church  will  take  him  back,"  said  the 
priest. 

My  father  went  home  and  found  mother  incon- 
solable. He  immediately  wrote  me  a  letter,  part 
of  which  read  as  follows : 

"  As  we  did  not  fully  understand  the  purport 
of  your  letter  we  took  it  to  our  parish  priest,  whom 
you  know.  When  he  read  it,  the  saddest  news 
ever  received  in  our  lives  was  conveyed  to  us;  that 
you,  by  forsaking  our  holy  religion,  had  become  a 
heretic,  a  castaway  from  the  Church,  and  a  vaga- 
bond in  the  world.  He  made  us  understand  that, 
unless  you  recant  the  errors  of  your  way,  your 
soul  is  lost,  forever  lost.  It  almost  broke  the  heart 
of  your  mother;  we  thought  that  she  would  lose 
her  mind,  for  she  went  about  the  house  moaning 
all  the  while,  saying,  '  My  poor  boy  is  lost.  I  shall 
never  see  him  in  this  world,  or  the  next ! '  Your 
mother  has  suffered  agonies  untold  on  your  account. 
For  what  she  has  gone  through  heretofore  you  are 
not  to  be  blamed ;  but  this  time,  you,  and  you  alone, 
are  the  cause  of  our  great  sorrow.  Now,  for  the 
sake  of  your  mother  who  has  idolized  you,  I  com- 
mand you  to  come  back  into  the  bosom  of  the  mother 
Church.  It  is  your  duty  to  obey.  If  you  rebel 
against  my  authority,  I  have  the  right  even  to  take 
your  life.     I  must  be  obeyed,  or  else  I  shall  go  to 


220  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

the  full  extent  of  my  power.  I  shall  wait  for  your 
proper  answer.  Again,  think  that  your  disobedi- 
ence to  the  laws  of  our  Holy  Church  has  brought 
upon  us  this  terrible  sorrow  which  has  crushed  our 
hearts." 

As  I  read  this  I  could  not  resist  the  feeling  that 
I  was  the  real  cause  of  bringing  so  much  pain  to 
the  heart  of  the  kindest  and  most  affectionate  of 
mothers.  How  I  wished  I  could  have  been  there 
to  tell  her  of  the  wonderful  change  wrought  in 
my  soul  by  the  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  how 
happy  I  had  been  since  I  believed  in  Christ  as  my 
Saviour.  I  wTote  a  long  letter  to  my  parents  full 
of  love  and  kind  thoughts.  I  explained  to  them 
that  I  not  only  believed  in  Christ,  but  I  loved  Him 
above  all  else,  and  that  my  service  to  Him  came 
from  the  heart.  I  wrote  also  that  I  believed  in 
Mary  as  the  mother  of  our  Lord,  also  that  I  now 
respected  her  as  never  before  my  conversion;  for 
then,  like  most  Italian  Roman  Catholics,  I  used  to 
do  what  they  did,  repeating  the  vile  words  which 
I  heard  everywhere  spoken  against  the  mother  of 
Jesus.  They  were  such  expressions  that  whenever 
I  think  of  them,  they  cause  me  to  blush;  words 
which  no  decent  man  would  utter  against  a  woman 
of  the  street.  The  most  common  sin  in  Italy  is  the 
insulting  language  used  about  "  La  Madonna." 
Often  had  I  heard  Gigi,  in  our  boyhood  days  when 
we  were  at  play,  make  use  of  that  too  common 
expression  in  Italian,  "  P.  O.  R.  C.  A.  Madonna," 


THE  STUDENT  221 

which  is  the  result  of  having  put  the  Virgin  Mary 
upon  the  altar  for  the  adoration  of  the  people. 

My  letter  would  have  been  a  great  comfort  to 
my  dear  parents  if  Gigi  had  never  seen  it,  for  it 
was  the  priest  who  poisoned  their  minds  with  his 
falsehoods.  It  was  he  who  prevailed  on  my  father 
and  mother  to  take  the  unnatural  step  to  disinherit 
their  child,  for  I  was  formally  disowned  at  law  for 
disobedience  to  the  will  of  my  parents,  and  also  by 
the  Church  as  a  heretic. 

The  ceremony  of  disinheritance  in  the  Church 
was  gone  through  with  by  Gigi,  who  had  my  par- 
ents stand  up  at  the  close  of  the  service  and  repeat 
the  following  words : 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Holy  Church  we  declare 
before  this  congregation  that  our  son  now  in  Amer- 
ica, having  abjured  our  holy  faith,  no  longer  be- 
longs to  our  family  and  we  regard  him  as  dead  and 
buried.  We  will  never  repeat  his  name,  and  we 
recall  from  him  our  affection.  So  God  help  us !  " 
In  the  centre  of  the  church  was  a  coffin  surrounded 
with  wax  candles,  and  after  the  priest  had  read  over 
it  the  burial  ceremony  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and 
sprinkled  holy  water  upon  it,  four  persons  took  it 
up  and,  followed  by  a  large  concourse  of  people, 
it  was  taken  to  the  cemetery  and  interred.  The 
coffin  represented  the  disinherited  son,  and  was 
typical  of  his  banishment  from  his  home  and  the 
fellowship  of  the  church. 

For   the   legal    disinheritance    I   cared   little   or 


222  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

nothing,  but  I  did  feel  bitterly  the  banishment  from 
parents  and  home.  It  almost  broke  my  heart  to 
think  that  my  affectionate  mother  had  barred  me 
from  her  heart.  In  the  Bible  I  read,  "  Children, 
obey  your  parents,"  and  the  words  came  with  dread- 
ful force  to  me.  But  Christ  seemed  to  stand  before 
me  and  say,  "  Unless  ye  forsake  father,  mother, 
brother  for  my  sake,  ye  are  not  worthy  of  me."  I 
received  strength  from  Him  to  bear  the  trial. 

The  following  lines  were  suggested  at  the  time 
when  this  heavy  trouble  was  laid  upon  me.  A  sweet 
melody  was  set  to  the  words  by  a  friend  of  mine. 
Professor  Manelli,  and  published  by  Ditson  &  Com- 
pany. 

DISOWNED  BY  MY  MOTHER. 

"When  my  father  and  my  mother   forsake  me  then  the 
Lord  will  take  me  up." — Ps.  27 :  10. 

Twilight  shades  are  deepening,  mother, 

Glowing  sunbeams  swiftly  flee, 
And  the  breeze  is  wafting,  mother, 

Tender  thoughts  of  Heaven  and  thee. 
Oh,  how  longs  this  heart,  my  mother, 

With  its  kindred  ones  to  be 
In  some  vale  of  peace,  dear  mother, 

There  to  dream  of  Heaven  and  thee. 

Wandering  now  I  weep,  my  mother. 

Since  I  roam  disowned  by  thee ; 
Yet  I  trust,  though  distant,  mother, 

Thou  dost  think  of  Heaven  and  me. 
From  the  hearth-stone  banished,  mother. 

For  the  Gospel  full  and  free, 
Though  thou  wilt  not  own  me,  mother, 

Ever  will  I  pray  for  thee. 


THE  STUDENT  223 

Thou  art  growing  old,  my  mother; 

Let  me  take  thee  by  the  hand, 
Lead  thee  to  the  blest  land,  mother, 

Guide  thee  to  its  golden  strand. 
No  more  sorrow  there,  dear  mother, 

Tears  shall  never  dim  thine  eye; 
Oh,  I  know  thou'lt  join  me,  mother, 

When  life's  storms  are  all  gone  by. 

This  the  thought  that  cheers  me,  mother, 

When  our  life  on  earth  is  past 
We  may  meet  our  dear  ones,  mother. 

In  the  bright,  sweet  land  of  rest. 
In  this  land  of  strangers,  mother. 

Far  from  Italy  and  thee, 
Stronger  grows  my  heart,  dear  mother. 

While  I  bend  to  pray  for  thee. 

I  wrote  these  lines  while  in  the  schoolroom  at  Mt. 
Pleasant.  My  mother  was  ever  in  my  mind  and 
heart,  and  that  day  I  could  not  set  my  thoughts 
upon  the  lesson.  I  could  not  constrain  my  mind  to 
listen  to  the  professor,  and  soon  was  thinking  and 
writing  of  her.  I  kept  on  at  this  work,  when  the 
sonorous  voice  of  Professor  Spaulding  greeted  my 
ear,  "  Will  our  friend  from  Italy  give  us  his  atten- 
tion, and  stop  his  writing.  It  is  not  very  pleasant 
for  the  class  and  myself  to  see  one  of  the  scholars 
so  forgetful  of  his  teacher  and  his  fellow-students." 
I  had  just  begun  the  first  line  of  the  fifth  verse 
when  I  was  thus  reproved.  It  knocked  the  inspira- 
tion out  of  me,  and  after  that  there  was  no  more 
verse-writing.  But  as  to  my  beloved  parents,  and 
especially  my  mother,  I  felt  that  she  did  not  mean 


224  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

what  she  was  compelled  by  the  priest  to  say.  I 
knew  that  she  was  my  loving  mother,  still  the  same 
at  heart. 

But  I  must  speak  of  my  summer  work  at  camp 
meetings.  Pastor  Hare  asked  me  to  assist  him 
at  the  district  camp-meeting  in  Mt.  Pleasant,  in 
conducting  prayer  meetings,  and  also  to  watch  the 
grounds  and  see  that  everything  was  done  in  a 
proper  manner.  I  had  never  attended  such  a  meet- 
ing, but  soon  got  well  acquainted  with  its  methods. 
It  was  held  in  a  grove  about  six  miles  from  the 
town.  People  came  in  all  kinds  of  vehicles,  so 
that  there  was  a  large  concourse  of  farmers  dressed 
in  every  style  and  fashion.  We  had  a  great  deal 
of  religious  excitement,  many  were  converted,  and 
there  was  a  continued  performance  in  the  way  of 
thanking  the  Lord  and  shouting  His  praises.  One 
Sunday  afternoon  the  ardour  of  the  people  was  so 
great  that  many  of  those  who  "  got  religion  "  would 
jump  to  their  feet,  shouting  and  throwing  their 
arms  in  every  direction  with  great  force.  In  going 
among  the  mourners  I  was  struck  on  the  head  by  a 
blow  which  almost  knocked  me  down.  I  noticed  a 
young  lady  and  a  young  man  near  each  other,  wildly 
throwing  their  arms  this  way  and  that.  I  was 
afraid  that  some  one  might  be  hurt  and  so  went  up 
to  the  young  man,  called  his  attention  to  the  young 
lady  near  him,  and  said,  "  Brother,  see  that  girl 
how  she  throws  her  arms  so  violently  in  every  direc- 
tion.   I  am  afraid  she  will  do  some  one  harm.    Will 


I 


THE  STUDENT  225 

you  kindly  go  to  her,  and  hold  her  hands  so  that 
she  will  not  hit  any  one?  No  sooner  had  I  said 
the  words  than  the  young  man  did  as  he  was  told, 
and  they  both  seemed  well  pleased  with  the  arrange- 
ment !  There  was  no  more  shouting  on  their  part, 
but  they  kept  as  quiet  as  two  contented  little  mice. 
I  am  no  match-maker,  but  that  young  man  and 
young  woman  became  so  well  acquainted  with  each 
other  that  one  day  in  the  fall  Pastor  Hare  called 
me  to  his  house  to  be  present  at  the  wedding  of 
a  couple  who  desired  that  I  should  be  there.  What 
was  my  surprise  to  see  the  two  young  people  about 
whom  I  have  spoken  above.  Of  course  I  could  not 
marry  them,  for  I  was  not  yet  ordained;  but  they 
divided  the  fee.  Five  dollars  were  given  to  Mr. 
Hare,  and  five  to  me. 

During  my  second  year  I  succeeded  in  making 
ends  meet  by  great  economy  and  frugal  living,  and 
my  progress  in  study  was  satisfactory  to  all  con- 
cerned. By  the  time  vacation  came  I  had  prepared 
a  lecture  on  "  Life  in  Italy  "  to  deliver  during  vaca- 
tion. After  that  I  had  no  more  trouble  in  securing 
money  enough  to  keep  me  in  school  throughout  the 
year.  I  would  sing  during  the  lecture  one  or  more 
songs  in  Italian  and  also  in  English,  which  made  it 
interesting. 

The  first  time  I  delivered  the  lecture  on  "  Life 
in  Italy  "  was  in  the  summer  of  i860  at  Blooming- 
ton,  Illinois.  The  following  notice  of  the  event  was 
printed  in  the  Bloomington  Daily  Tribune: 


226  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

"  The  audience  last  night  at  the  Second  Presby- 
terian Church,  to  hear  Mr.  Antonio  Arrighi  lecture 
on  '  Life  in  Italy,'  was  composed  of  the  most  intel- 
ligent people  of  Bloomington  and  Normal.  The 
house  was  literally  packed,  the  gallery,  isles  and 
pulpit  being  filled." 

An  interesting  incident  happened  the  day  after 
my  lecture.  Abraham  Lincoln,  who  had  been  nom- 
inated for  the  presidency  of  the  United  States,  was 
in  the  city,  and  a  friend  insisted  that  I  should  make 
his  acquaintance.  I  was  introduced  to  Mr.  Lincoln 
by  my  friend,  and  as  I  stood  before  him  I  felt  that 
I  was  in  the  presence  of  a  noble  man  and  a  true 
American.  He  said  that  he  admired  that  hero  of 
two  worlds,  Garibaldi,  but  he  had  great  admira- 
tion also  for  Mazzini,  and  remarked,  "  Italy  will 
never  be  great  again  unless  united  and  one,  but 
united  upon  the  terms  of  Mazzini,  '  a  free  Church 
in  a  free  State.'  " 

At  the  lecture  there  sat  in  the  pulpit  the  pioneer 
hero  of  the  Methodist  Church,  Peter  Cartwright, 
who  was  then  the  presiding  elder  of  the  Jacksonville 
district.  I  was  invited  to  go  with  him  to  the  Jack- 
sonville camp  meeting.  I  felt  proud  indeed  to  be  in 
the  company  of  the  old  warrior  of  Methodism,  who 
had  boldly  fought  against  prevailing  sin,  and  frankly 
condemned  wrong  of  all  sorts.  On  one  occasion, 
while  there  were  many  penitents  at  the  mourner's 
bench,  a  number  of  young  ladies  stood  upon  the 
benches  which  were  used  as  seats,  and  were  enjoy- 


THE  STUDENT  227 

ing  themselves  in  a  too  lively  manner.  The  old 
gentleman  said  in  a  loud  voice,  "If  those  young 
girls  who  are  standing  upon  the  benches  knew  that 
they  have  holes  in  their  stockings,  they  would  get 
down  quickly."  Not  a  single  girl,  or  anybody  else, 
stood  upon  the  seats  during  the  rest  of  that  camp 
meeting.  A  brother  minister  who  heard  the  above 
remark  said  to  Mr.  Cartwright,  "  Dear  brother,  how 
did  you  know  that  those  girls  had  holes  in  their 
stockings  ?  "  He  looked  the  minister  in  the  eye,  and 
said,  "  How  could  they  put  them  on,  unless  they 
had  holes?" 

This  good  old  brother  was  so  well  pleased  with 
my  work  that  he  gave  me  a  letter  of  recommenda- 
tion, which  I  will  copy. 

"Jacksonville,  July  23rd,  i860, 
"  I  very  cordially  and  earnestly  would  recommend  to  all 
the  friends  of  humanity  the  bearer,  Antonio  Arrighi,  a  poor 
young  Italian  lately  converted  from  Popery,  who  is  striving 
for  an  education  to  qualify  himself  to  return  and  preach  the 
Grospel  to  his  benighted  nation. 

(Signed)  "Peter  Cartwright." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HOME  AGAIN 

I  WAS  successful  in  gathering  enough  money, 
by  means  of  my  lecture  and  my  singing,  to 
keep  me  at  school  during  that  year.  This 
made  me  happy  and  thankful,  and  I  entered  upon 
my  studies  that  fall  with  redoubled  vigour. 

Dr.  Elliott,  the  president  of  the  University,  had 
a  conversation  with  me  about  my  future  plans. 
The  Doctor  thought  that  in  1861  I  would  be  quali- 
fied to  enter  the  Freshman  year.  *'  But,"  said  he, 
"  you  had  better  go  to  Delaware,  Ohio,  where  the 
Ohio  Wesleyan  University  is  located.  They  have 
better  opportunities  and  more  means  to  give  you  a 
complete  education  than  we  have  here.  Our  college 
is  new  and  poorly  equipped  for  a  thorough  course. 
1  will  give  you  a  letter  of  transfer,  and  recommend 
you  to  the  kindness  of  Dr.  Merrick,  the  acting  pres- 
ident of  the  institution." 

In  October,  i860,  I  appeared  before  Judge  War- 
wick of  the  county  court  in  Henry  County  and 
became  an  American  citizen. 

When  the  day  of  election  came,  I  put  on  a  new 
suit  which  I  had  bought  for  the  purpose,  for  I  felt 


HOME  AGAIN  229 

as  though  I  were  gomg  to  my  own  wedding.  I  did 
not  rejoice  because  I  was  a  son  of  Italy,  or  because 
I  had  been  a  drummer  boy  in  Garibaldi's  army,  or 
because  I  had  been  unjustly  sent  to  the  Galera  and 
escaped ;  but  because  I  had  been  declared  by  the 
laws  of  the  land  an  American  citwcn.  I  have  two 
documents  w^hich  I  regard  as  sacred.  The  first  and 
the  most  important  is  the  one  which  authorized  me 
to  preach  the  Gospel,  which  certifies  that  as  a  Chris- 
tian minister  I  belong  to  Christ's  kingdom.  The 
other  document  is  my  naturalization  paper. 

In  the  spring  of  1861  the  black  cloud  of  war 
began  to  spread  desolation  over  this  happy  country. 
Civil  war  was  declared  between  the  North  and  the 
South,  and  for  four  years  brother  fought  against 
brother,  while  the  land  was  plunged  into  the  deepest 
sorrow  which  can  ever  fall  to  the  lot  of  any  nation. 

President  Lincoln,  for  whom  I  had  voted,  called 
for  75,000  volunteers  to  defend  and  uphold  the 
national  government.  Although  I  had  been  an 
American  citizen  only  a  few  months,  I  did  not  wait 
long  to  have  my  loyalty  to  my  adopted  country 
proven,  for  I  was  one  of  the  first  to  respond  to 
the  call. 

In  Mt.  Pleasant  a  company  was  formed  under 
the  leadership  of  Captain  Daniel  Wise.  It  was 
Company  F,  First  Iowa  Regiment  of  Volunteers, 
Colonel  Bates,  commander.  My  love  for  America 
and  the  American  people  was  so  great  that  in  time 
of  need  I  forgot  all  else  but  my  duty  to  my  adopted  ft-' 


l^. 


230  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

country.  I  cannot  go  into  the  details  of  my  soldier 
life.  It  is  enough  to  record  that  I  was  present 
at  the  battle  of  Wilson's  Creek,  Missouri,  under 
General  Lyon,  who  was  killed  during  that  fight. 
The  Union  army  was  defeated  and  compelled  to 
retreat  until  a  junction  was  made  with  the  force 
under  General  Sigel,  who  formed  the  famous 
square  that  saved  the  Army  of  the  West.  From 
our  company  one  was  killed,  and  a  young  man, 
named  Hamilton,  who  stood  next  to  me,  was 
wounded  in  the  shoulder.  The  battle  of  Wilson's 
Creek  was  fought  in  the  early  morning  of  August 
lo,  1861. 

I  served  my  time  out,  and,  being  anxious  to 
make  money  for  the  coming  school  year,  I  began 
a  lecturing  tour  before  entering  the  Ohio  Wesleyan 
University.  After  having  been  examined,  Presi- 
dent Merrick  gave  me  the  card  of  matriculation. 

This  admitted  me  to  the  Freshman  year  of  the 
University.  I  had  the  misfortune  while  in  the  army 
to  contract  chills  and  ague,  and  on  account  of  this 
I  was  often  interrupted  in  my  studies,  which  made 
progress  rather  slow.  But  by  hard  work  I  got 
through  the  Freshman  year,  and  was  able  to  enter 
the  Sophomore  year  still  followed  by  the  same 
trouble.  At  the  close  of  this  year  a  friend  who 
knew  the  state  of  my  health  suggested  that  I  be 
transferred  to  Dickinson  College,  at  Carlisle,  Penn- 
sylvania, it  being  in  a  mountainous  country,  and  so 
it  was  arranged.    I  entered  the  Junior  class  of  that 


HOME  AGAIN  231 

college,  and  spent  also  a  part  of  the  Senior  year 
there.  I  grew  worse,  and  my  physician  advised  me 
to  give  up  study  for  the  time  being.  This  was  in 
the  spring  of  1865.  As  I  could  not  fix  my  mind 
upon  my  studies,  I  began  to  think  about  something 
else,  much  better  than  Greek  and  Latin. 

While  in  Delaware,  Ohio,  I  became  acquainted 
with  the  best  young  lady  in  the  town.  Miss  Emma 
Vining,  daughter  of  the  sheriff  of  Delaware  County. 
We  had  known  each  other  for  four  years,  and  I 
felt  that  God  had  guided  me  to  that  place  to  find 
there  my  companion  for  life.  I  was  not  mistaken, 
for  our  married  life  has  been  happy  indeed.  Her 
wise  counsels  have  been  a  great  help  to  me  in  my 
work. 

I  began  to  feel  so  well  and  strong  that  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  enter  the  Boston  Theological  Sem- 
inary that  fall,  and  when  the  time  came,  my  wife 
and  I  started  for  Boston.  I  must  say  that  I  never 
had  better  success  in  my  studies  than  in  that  school. 
In  three  years  I  graduated,  and  was  then  prepared 
to  begin  my  life  work.  Italy  was  now  open  to  the 
preaching  of  Christ's  Gospel,  and  my  heart  was 
burning  with  intense  longing  to  go  there  as  the 
herald  of  a  free  salvation.  It  was  my  desire  to  work 
in  connection  with  a  native  church,  for  I  have  al- 
ways been  of  the  opinion  that  such  a  church  would 
be  more  successful  in  evangelizing  the  Italians  than 
an  imported  one  under  the  control  of  an  im- 
ported superintendent.    No  one  can  understand  the 


232  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

Italian  character  as  well  as  an  Italian.  I  decided 
to  go  myself  and  look  over  the  field,  to  see  where 
I  could  be  most  useful  in  the  cause  of  Christ. 

After  having  provided  for  my  family,  I  sailed 
for  my  native  land  in  the  spring  of  1871.  Although 
I  had  received  no  news  directly  from  my  parents 
after  they  declared  their  son  disinherited,  I  knew 
from  other  sources  that  they  were  alive  and  well. 
I  did  not  inform  them  of  my  intention  to  make 
them  a  visit,  for  I  knew  that  the  priest  would 
be  informed  of  it,  and  of  course  he  would 
do  all  in  his  power  to  induce  them  not  to  receive 
me. 

My  first  resting-place  in  Italy  was  Bologna,  the 
city  of  towers.  When  I  set  foot  on  Italian  soil 
my  feelings  cannot  easily  be  described.  I  had  been 
an  exile  for  many  years,  tossed  hither  and  thither 
by  various  fate,  and  had  suffered  much.  Italy  was 
no  longer  the  country  of  tyranny  and  slavery.  It 
was  not  now  divided  into  small  States,  over  each 
of  which  a  more  or  less  imbecile  potentate  ruled. 
Neither  was  it  longer  the  land  of  universal  illiteracy, 
but  free  and  united  under  the  liberal  dynasty  of 
the  House  of  Savoy.  Italian  commerce  had 
doubled.  The  land  was  no  more  wholly  priest- 
ridden.  The  great  saying  of  Mazzini  and  Cavour 
had  been  fully  realized,  "  A  free  Church  in  a  free 
State."  I  was  no  longer  a  proscript,  but  "  a  free 
white  person  from  Tuscany  in  Italy,"  free  to  go 
anywhere  I  wished,  and  stay  as  long  as  I  might 


HOME  AGAIN  233 

desire,  without  fear  of  being  molested  by  priestly 
spies  or  agents  of  the  government. 

I  went  to  Bologna  because  the  superintendent  of 
the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church  Mission  in  Italy 
resided  there.  I  spent  the  Sabbath  at  the  Italian 
mission  in  that  city,  and  for  the  first  time  heard 
the  Gospel  of  our  blessed  Saviour  in  my  own  sweet 
tongue.  The  name  of  Jesus  never  sounded  more 
precious  than  it  did  on  that  occasion.  I  should  have 
remained  in  Bologna  longer,  but  an  irrepressible 
desire  to  see  my  dear  and  honoured  parents  would 
not  allow  me  to  linger,  I  must  make  haste  and  go 
to  them.  I  knew  not  what  my  reception  would  be, 
for  I  had  received  no  news  from  them  since  they 
had  publicly  stated  that  my  name  should  never  be 
mentioned  in  the  family.  My  desire  to  see  my  par- 
ents was  so  strong  that  it  overcame  all  other  con- 
siderations. "  Come  what  may,"  I  said,  "  I  will 
go.  There  is  nothing  in  all  Italy  I  want  to  see  so 
much  as  the  faces  of  my  father  and  mother." 

The  only  thing  that  made  me  feel  uneasy  was  the 
influence  of  my  old  enemy,  the  priest  Gigi,  the  man 
who  had  buried  me  in  effigy.  But  I  knew  that  my 
parents  were  still  mine,  and  that  was  enough.  So, 
one  Monday  morning  I  took  the  train  from  Bologna 
to  Pracchia,  a  town  about  twelve  miles  from  Barga, 
where  my  parents  resided.  Pracchia  is  a  summer 
resort,  almost  on  the  brow  of  the  Apennines.  There 
I  stayed  over  night,  and  the  next  morning  started 
on  foot  for  the  house  of  my  loved  ones.     After  a 


234  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

tramp  of  a  mile  or  more,  I  reached  a  high  point 
from  which  the  view  was  simply  glorious.  To  the 
south  I  could  see  the  Mediterranean,  the  cities  of 
Pisa  and  Leghorn,  the  plain  of  the  Arno,  and  a 
great  number  of  towns  and  villages.  To  the  north 
the  cities  of  Modena  and  Parma  were  at  my  feet, 
although  twenty  miles  away.  It  was  early  morning. 
The  air  was  so  clear  that  everything  was  sharply 
defined.  There  are  no  trees  on  the  top  of  the 
Apennines.  Nothing  but  grass  grows  there,  and  in 
summer  it  is  the  grazing  ground  for  multitudes 
of  sheep.  I  was  now  passing  through  one  of  the 
most  interesting  parts  of  Italy.  The  varied  scenery 
along  these  twelve  miles  from  the  brow  of  the 
mountain  to  Barga  my  hand  cannot  depict.  Wild 
mountains  rise  on  each  side  of  the  road,  so  steep, 
so  rugged,  and  so  lofty  that  as  you  look  up  they 
seem  to  come  together  and  form  a  dome,  through 
which  the  sunbeams  seldom  penetrate.  Immense 
boulders  and  jagged  rocks  are  thrown  around  in 
such  confusion  that  the  idea  is  suggested  that  at 
some  period  nature  was  there  convulsed  by  super- 
human power.  In  some  places  the  wild  stream 
which  rushes  swiftly  down  is  so  hemmed  in  between 
the  mountains  that  there  is  not  room  for  a  human 
foot,  and  a  tunnel  has  been  cut  through  the  moun- 
tain-side to  enable  travellers  to  continue  their 
journey. 

I  was  now  going  down  on  the  west  side  of  the 
mountains,  and  at  some  places  the  way  is  so  steep 


HOME  AGAIN  235 

that  I  could  not  hold  myself  back,  but  had  to  go 
at  full  speed.  I  was  on  the  banks  of  the  beauti- 
ful river  Serchio,  the  Juniata  of  Italy.  After  a 
short  walk  upstream  I  found  myself  before  one  of 
the  most  wonderful  structures  in  all  the  land.  It  is 
a  stone  bridge  of  only  one  arch,  having  the  extraor- 
nary  length  of  two  hundred  feet  and  the  height  of 
a  hundred  feet  above  the  water. 

Here  we  will  make  a  diversion  from  the  story,  so 
that  we  may  give  the  reader  a  correct  idea  of  this 
wonderful  bridge.  As  to  who  designed  and  built  it 
there  is  no  record.  There  is,  however,  a  gen- 
eral belief  in  that  region  that  it  was  designed  and 
constructed  by  the  devil  himself,  for  it  is  called  II 
Ponte  del  Diavolo.  The  peculiarity  of  the  bridge 
is  the  great  span  of  its  one  arch,  and  also  the  fact 
that  its  keystone  or  highest  point  is  not  in  the 
centre,  but  is  twenty- five  feet  east  of  the  centre. 
Either  end  of  this  great  arch  rests  on  rocks  which 
form  the  banks  of  the  river.  The  grade  from  the 
west  is  gradual,  but  on  the  east  it  is  very  steep. 
The  roadway  is  about  two  and  a  half  feet  wide, 
and,  therefore,  can  be  used  only  by  travellers  on 
foot.  The  puzzle  is  to  know  how  a  bridge  so 
unevenly  proportioned  could  bear  its  immense 
weight  and  not  fall.  The  legend  popular  with  the 
people  in  that  part  of  the  country,  as  to  the  origin 
of  the  bridge,  is  as  follows : 

The  townfolk  of  Borgo  a  Mozzano  were  much 
inconvenienced  because  there  was  no  way  by  which 


236  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

the  river  could  be  crossed,  there  being  no  bridge 
at  that  point,  and  the  raging  torrent,  in  which  were 
many  rocks,  made  crossing  extremely  perilous. 

The  parish  priest  of  the  town  advised  the  people 
to  pray  to  their  patron  saint,  San  Rocco,  who  per- 
haps would  do  the  needed  work  by  a  miracle. 
Therefore  a  day  was  appointed  when  the  image 
of  San  Rocco  would  be  taken  in  procession  through 
the  streets,  and  this  was  done  in  a  splendid  manner. 
The  people  dressed  themselves  in  their  best  finery, 
there  was  music,  there  was  dancing  before  the  saint, 
and  at  night  there  was  a  torch-light  parade,  the 
town  itself  being  illuminated.  But  they  waited  in 
vain;  no  response  was  made  to  their  prayers,  no 
bridge  came  into  being.  Finally,  the  wise  men  of 
Borgo  met  in  council  at  the  town-hall  to  devise 
some  plan  whereby  the  bridge  could  be  built;  but 
after  much  deliberation  they  gave  up  in  despair. 
At  the  meeting  the  baker,  an  influential  man  and 
one  highly  respected,  was  elected  president  of  the 
council.  In  his  opening  address  he  said,  "  Fellow 
citizens,  methinks  the  building  of  a  bridge  over  the 
boiling  torrent  of  our  river  is  an  utter  impossibility 
to  human  power.  To  build  a  bridge  across  this 
stream  requires  an  engineer  greater  than  the  saints, 
whose  cunning,  skill  and  power  are  more  than 
human.  Therefore,  I  move  you  that  we  ask  the 
devil  to  help  us."  The  motion  was  seconded  by  the 
cobbler,  but  strongly  opposed  by  the  parish  priest. 
However,  it  was  carried,  and  at  that  same  moment 


HOME  AGAIN  237 

the  door  of  the  hall  was  opened  and  there  stood 
a  stranger.  He  was  a  queer-looking  man.  His 
complexion  was  almost  black.  He  was  dressed  in 
the  fashion  of  the  lower  region  from  which  he  had 
come.  Over  his  forehead  were  two  small  horns; 
his  eyes  blazed  with  an  infernal  flame,  and  from 
his  nostrils  breathed  out  steam,  so  laden  with 
the  fumes  of  brimstone  that  they  filled  the  hall  and 
made  every  one  cough  and  sneeze.  At  his  heels 
the  forked  end  of  a  tail  was  visible. 

At  the  sight  of  such  an  apparition  the  councilmen 
turned  pale  and  trembled  with  fear.  They  franti- 
cally crossed  themselves  in  the  hope  that  the  sign 
of  the  cross  would  make  the  devil  flee.  Instead 
it  made  him  laugh  in  derision.  One  of  the  men 
who  stood  next  the  parish  priest,  seeing  that  the 
devil  did  not  fear  the  sign  of  the  cross,  nudged  the 
priest  and  said,  "Where  is  your  crucifix?"  The 
priest,  acting  upon  the  suggestion,  gathered  enough 
courage  to  take  the  crucifix  from  his  bosom  and, 
waving  it  above  him,  stepped  falteringly  toward  the 
stranger.  But  Signor  Diabolus,  instead  of  fleeing, 
moved  towards  the  priest.  He,  overcome  with 
terror,  hastily  dropped  the  crucifix  and  shrank  away 
under  a  table.  Confusion  reigned  supreme,  and 
many  of  the  councilmen  followed  the  priest  into 
his  refuge.  In  the  council  was  a  very  wicked  man, 
the  blacksmith.  Believing  that  the  devil  was  espe- 
cially after  him,  he  risked  his  life  by  leaping 
through  an  open  window  to  the  ground,   twenty 


238  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

feet  below,  and  one  of  his  legs  was  broken.  Diabo- 
lus,  seeing  such  a  state  of  affairs  and  that  the  coun- 
cilmen  were  alarmed  at  his  presence,  spoke  very 
soothingly  and  with  cunning: 

"  Friends,  my  friends,  hear  me,  and  come  out  of 
your  hiding  places.  Shame  on  you.  Christians,  to. 
confide  in  the  sign  of  the  cross,  instead  of  having 
real  faith  in  Him  who  died  on  it!  It  is  not  the 
cross  that  frightens  me,  but  the  sacrifice  made 
thereon.  Look  at  me  (and  he  picked  up  the  crucifix 
the  priest  had  dropped).  See,  I  hold  it  high,  but 
it  has  no  life.  You  trust  in  a  mere  symbol;  yes,  you 
worship  an  idol,  and  at  the  same  time  you  neglect 
Him  whose  name  you  bear.  The  people  I  fear 
are  those  who  have  true  faith  in  the  atoning  blood 
of  the  Christus.  You  say  I  hate  the  cross.  I  have 
too  much  common  sense  to  hate  a  thing  without 
life  and  power.  I  have  not  come  to  do  you  any 
bodily  harm.  I  am  here  to  build  you  a  bridge,  so 
come  and  let  us  reason."  At  these  words  the  coun- 
cilmen  ventured  to  peep  out  from  under  the  table. 
They  took  courage  and  left  their  hiding  places.  At 
this  manifestation  of  confidence,  Diabolus  assumed 
a  familiar  tone  and  said,  "  Come,  shake  hands," 
but  when  the  men  saw  his  long,  claw-like  fingers, 
they  kept  at  a  respectful  distance. 

Diabolus  concealed  his  disappointment,  and  re- 
marked, "  Well,  gentlemen  of  this  honourable  coun- 
cil, as  you  voted  to  invoke  my  aid,  I  am  all  ready 
to  build  the  bridge  which  will  be  one  of  the  wonders 


HOME  AGAIN  239 

of  the  world,  a  bridge  that  no  flood  can  ever  de- 
stroy. However,"  said  he,  "  I  will  build  it  only 
on  one  condition,  and  that  is  this :  the  first  soul  to 
cross  the  bridge  shall  be  mine !  " 

The  councilmen  looked  at  each  other  uneasily,  and 
asked  themselves,  "  Whose  soul  shall  it  be  ?  "  At 
the  thought  of  personal  risk  the  sweat  rolled  down 
their  faces,  in  anticipation  of  the  heated  region 
from  which  Diabolus  had  come.  They  finally 
agreed,  however,  to  acquiesce  in  the  demand. 

The  parish  priest,  whose  wits  now  began  work- 
ing, spoke  out  and  said,  "  Now,  gentlemen  of  this 
honourable  council,  as  our  esteemed  friend "  (at 
which  the  devil  made  a  sour  face,  and  muttered, 
"Hear  that  hypocrite  calling  me  'esteemed'! 
Bah!")  "is  about  to  confer  upon  our  quiet  and 
peaceful  city  the  greatest  favour  it  has  ever 
enjoyed,  I  move  you,  sirs,  that  the  best  man 
in  the  town  be  requested  to  be  the  first  to  cross 
the  bridge,  and  that  it  be  the  sentiment  of  all 
here  that  our  president,  the  baker,  be  the  chosen 
one." 

At  this  there  was  a  broad  smile  on  the  faces  of 
all  present,  with  the  exception  of  the  baker,  whose 
face  first  turned  pale,  then  scarlet,  and  then  settled 
into  a  greenish  hue.  His  wrath  had  no  bounds, 
and  bringing  his  fist  down  with  great  force  on  the 
table,  he  roared  out,  "  Perdio  I  "  at  which  Diabolus, 
with  a  scandalized  look,  said,  "  No  profane  lan- 
guage in  my  presence !     You  may  swear  in  your 


240  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

churches,  but  in  the  presence  of  Satan  cursing  is 
forbidden." 

The  president,  still  greatly  enraged  at  what  the 
priest  had  done,  exclaimed,  "  Well,  you  all  know, 
gentlemen  of  the  council,  that  without  me  you  would 
starve,  for  who  would  bake  your  bread  and  make 
your  macaroni  ? "  Here  he  paused.  Then  he 
spoke  again,  in  tones  of  distress,  as  though  his 
heart  would  break,  "  You  all  know,  my  fellow-cit- 
izens, that  I  have  a  large  family,  and  if  I  am  taken 
away,  who  will  provide  for  my  poor  children? 
They  will  have  to  beg,  or  starve  in  the  streets." 
At  this  point  a  bright  idea  came  into  the  mind  of 
the  president,  and  he  continued,  "  But  as  we  are  no 
longer  worshippers  of  the  saints,  and  as  it  is  clear 
that  we  have  turned  worshippers  of  the  great  King 
of  Darkness,  therefore,  the  services  of  our  worthy 
priest  are  no  longer  needed.  Gentlemen,  I  move 
you  then,  that  the  priest  enjoy  the  great  honour 
of  being  the  first  to  cross  this  marvellous 
bridge." 

The  priest  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  devil 
spoke  up  and  said,  "  Gentlemen,  my  time  is  short, 
for  I  am  a  busy  person,  but  I  will  be  generous  with 
you.  You  agree  to  give  me  the  first  soul  that  shall 
go  over  the  bridge.  I  have  no  choice  in  the  matter 
so  long  as  it  is  a  soul.  In  the  morning  when  you 
open  your  eyes,  you  will  see  the  bridge  complete." 
These  words  said,  the  devil  disappeared.  The 
councilmen  then  went  silently  and  seriously  to  their 


HOME  AGAIN  241 

homes,  to  dream  whose  soul  should  fall  into  the 
clutches  of  Diabolus.  It  is  said  that  the  priest  had 
a  frightful  nightmare. 

Sure  enough,  in  the  morning  the  bridge  stood 
there  in  its  glory.  The  townspeople  passed  and  re- 
passed along  the  river  bank,  admiring  the  struc- 
ture; but  no  one  would  venture  to  cross  it. 

About  noon  when  Diabolus  was  fast  losing  his 
patience,  waiting  for  his  expected  victim,  the  parish 
priest  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  bridge  with  an 
expression  of  vengeance  on  his  face.  He  remem- 
bered with  bitterness  how  ridiculous  the  devil  had 
made  him  appear  the  night  before  at  the  council. 
Just  then  a  yellow  dog  happened  to  come  near  the 
priest,  and  instantly  he  formed  his  plan.  Accord- 
ing to  the  people  of  that  district  dogs  have  souls, 
and  the  priest  seized  the  animal,  quickly  thrust  it 
on  the  bridge,  and,  giving  the  creature  a  sharp 
blow  with  his  cane,  caused  the  yelping  dog  to  run 
over  it.  He  then  shouted  the  one  word,  "  Re- 
venged! " 

The  yellow  dog  never  turned  back,  for  fear  of 
receiving  another  blow  from  the  priest's  cane,  and 
soon  arrived  at  the  place  where  Diabolus  stood. 
The  devil  quickly  saw  that  he  had  been  fooled  by 
the  priest,  who  had  called  him  "  esteemed  friend !  " 
Diabolus  raged  like  the  fiend  he  was,  and  cried  out, 
*'  Henceforth  and  forevermore  no  priest  shall  live 
to  enter  the  infernal  regions.  I  care  not  where  they 
go,  or  what  becames  of  them.    I  have  done  a  good 


242 


IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 


thing  for  these  people  and  my  reward  is  only  a 
yellow  dog.  It  is  more  than  the  devil  can  stand !  " 
As  Diabolus  said  these  words  he  frothed  at  the 
mouth,  and  clouds  of  hissing  steam,  mixed  with 
fire,  shot  from  his  nostrils.  The  people  who  saw 
him  thought  that  they  were  gazing  into  a  fiery 
furnace. 

Diabolus  was  so  incensed  at  having  been  easily 
deceived  that  he  took  the  dog  by  its  hind  legs  and 
swung  it  round  and  round  until  it  looked  like  a 
revolving  wheel.  Then  hissing  a  defiance  to  the 
God  of  the  priest,  he  tossed  the  dog  high  into  the 
air,  with  the  intent  that  when  it  came  down  it 
should  strike  the  keystone  of  the  bridge  and  cause 
the  whole  structure  to  collapse  and  fall  into  the 
river.  In  a  few  seconds  the  dog  came  swiftly  down 
and  struck  that  very  stone,  but,  instead  of  dislodg- 
ing it,  the  poor  canine  went  through  the  stone,  leav- 
ing a  circular  hole  in  it  the  size  of  his  body,  and 
then,  striking  the  water  beneath  the  bridge,  dis- 
appeared forever. 

At  the  sight  of  this,  the  ravings  of  Diabolus  had 
no  limit.  He  thundered  out  a  word  which  rever- 
berated from  mountain  to  mountain  up  and  down 
the  valley.  It  was  heard  by  all  living  in  the  region, 
"  Fooled !  "     Then  he  disappeared. 

The  people  gathered  in  the  church  and  sang  the 
"  Te  Deum  "  as  a  thanksgiving  for  the  great  vic- 
tory won  by  the  cunning  device  of  the  parish  priest. 
There  is  an  old  saying  in  that  part  of  the  country 


HOME  AGAIN  243 

that  the  cunning  of  a  priest  is  greater  than  that  of 
the  devil. 

If  any  of  our  readers  should  have  doubts  as  to 
the  truth  of  this  legend,  we  advise  them  to  go  and 
see  this  wonderful  bridge.  Take  the  railroad  that 
now  runs  from  Lucca  to  the  Baths  of  Lucca,  stop 
at  the  station  called  Borgo  a  Mozzano,  and 
there,  before  your  eyes,  stands  the  bridge.  If  you 
walk  over  it,  you  will  see  at  its  highest  point  the 
very  hole  made  by  the  fall  of  the  unfortunate  dog. 

I  now  leave  Borgo  a  Mozzano,  with  its  marvel- 
lous bridge  and  amusing  legend,  and  journey  to- 
wards the  Baths  of  Lucca,  where,  from  time  im- 
memorial, kings,  emperors  and  great  men  have  en- 
joyed the  refreshing  virtues  of  its  water,  and  the 
beneficial  medicinal  properties  it  contains.  These 
baths  are  located  midway  between  the  base  and  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain  and  are  fully  twenty  yards 
underground.  They  are  reached  by  a  stairway 
which  seems  to  lead  one  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
mountains.  The  scenery  in  the  vicinity  is  of  great 
variety,  and  both  interesting  and  grand.  No- 
where else  in  Italy  can  more  perfect  rest  be 
had.  One  feels  as  though  in  dreamland,  and  the 
quietude  has  a  subduing  yet  invigorating  effect 
upon  the  whole  system.  You  are  in  the  real  "  Valle 
Ombrosa,"  more  fascinating  than  the  one  near 
Florence,  of  which  Mrs.  Browning  wrote  in  her 
matchless  poem.  The  dense  shadow  (onibra)  is 
produced  by  the  dark  green  foliage  of  the  chestnut 


244 


IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 


trees   with   which  the   mountains   and   valleys   are 
thickly  covered. 

After  a  walk  of  four  hours  I  found  myself  be- 
fore the  old  walls  of  the  city  of  Barga,  the  home 
of  my  childhood.  Near  the  Porta  del  Pallone 
stands  the  principal  inn  of  the  town,  and  many  peo- 
ple were  going  into  it.  Looking  into  the  large  dining- 
room  I  saw  there  quite  a  company  of  men  and 
women.  They  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some  one. 
I  asked  a  young  man  what  was  going  on,  and  he 
said  that  a  party  of  pilgrims  was  about  to  start 
for  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  San  Pellegrino 
high  up  on  the  mountains,  and  they  were  waiting 
at  the  inn  for  the  priest  to  bless  them.  Just  then 
a  priest  in  his  robes,  having  in  his  hand  a  kind  of 
hair  brush,  and  followed  by  a  little  boy  carrying  a 
silver  bowl  full  of  holy  water,  entered  the  inn.  All 
the  people  bowed  down  before  him.  At  the  same 
time  the  priest  noticed  that  there  was  a  rather 
well-dressed  stranger  at  the  inn  door.  Supposing 
that  he  was  a  person  of  some  distinction  he  smiled 
very  afifably,  and  made  a  graceful  bow  to  him.  The 
stranger  did  the  same.  Then  the  priest  dipped  the 
hairbrush,  called  "  asperges,"  into  the  bowl  and 
sprinkled  the  whole  crowd,  at  the  same  time  saying 
a  prayer  in  Latin  which  no  one  could  understand, 
even  if  he  himself  understood  it. 

I  noticed  that  he  seemed  anxious  that  the  stranger 
should  get  more  of  the  water  than  any  one  else. 
After  this  he  raised  three  fingers  of  his  right  hand 


HOME  AGAIN  245 

and  blessed  every  one  present,  including  myself.  At 
this  point  in  the  ceremony  I  went  out,  and  asked  a 
little  girl  who  stood  near  the  door  who  the  priest 
was. 

"  His  name,"  answered  the  child,  "  is  Gigi,  and  he 
is  the  cappellano  of  our  church."  "  What,"  I  said 
to  myself,  "  the  priest  in  whose  church  years  ago  my 
funeral  service  was  held,  and  who  said  prayers  to 
keep  my  soul  out  of  heaven,  sprinkled  holy  water 
over  the  coffin  which  represented  my  poor  self,  and 
had  it  buried?  Now  the  same  man  and  the  same 
hand  shower  blessing  and  sprinkle  holy  water  over 
my  very  body.  Wonderful!  "  But  the  case  would 
have  been  quite  different  had  the  priest  known  who 
the  stranger  was.  However,  I  soon  forgot  the  inci- 
dent, and  walked  rapidly  towards  my  father's  house. 

As  I  stood  before  the  door  one  thought  after 
another  rushed  into  my  mind.  I  was  bewildered, 
not  knowing  vvhat  to  do.  I  asked  myself  the  ques- 
tion, "  Shall  I  ring  the  bell  and  make  myself  known? 
And  what  shall  I  say?  Or  shall  I  do  what  I  used 
to  do  in  childhood  when  I  came  home  tired  out 
from  play,  and  rushed  straight  into  the  sitting- 
room,  knowing  my  mother  was  there?  And  will 
she  receive  me  now  with  the  same  glad  smile  of 
twenty-three  years  ago  ?  "  Think  as  I  would,  I  did 
just  what  I  used  to  do  in  that  long  ago  time.  I 
opened  the  door  and,  childlike,  ran  into  the  sitting- 
room.  There  she  was  in  her  accustomed  place  by 
the  window,  her  hair  perfectly  white,  but  with  the 


246  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

same  sweet  features.  When  she  looked  up  I  saw 
on  her  face  an  expression  of  alarm  as  though  about 
to  ask  how  I  dared  enter  the  house  without  making 
myself  known,  or  stating  what  I  wanted. 

We  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  and 
at  last  I  gave  way  and  said,  "  Mother,  do  you 
not " 

That  was  enough.  It  does  not  take  long  for  a 
mother  to  recognize  her  child,  after  however  great 
an  absence.  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  utter  the  beauti- 
ful word,  "  mother."  That  is  the  password  to 
her  heart.  She  did  not  allow  me  to  finish  my 
sentence,  but  ran  to  me,  threw  her  arms  around  my 
neck,  pressed  me  to  her  bosom,  saying,  "  Tonio ! 
My  Tonio  has  come,"  and  swooned  away.  My  sis- 
ter Mena,  who  was  in  the  next  room,  heard  the 
cry  and  ran  into  the  room.  Seeing  the  condition 
her  mother  was  in,  and  not  knowing  me,  she  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  something  was  wrong,  and 
that  my  intentions  were  bad.  As  quick  as  thought 
she  rushed  from  the  room,  and  in  a  moment  w^as 
back  again  with  an  axe  in  her  hand.  I  saw  in 
her  eyes  a  furious  look,  and  at  once  apprehended 
what  it  meant.  I  spoke  to  her  and  said,  "  Mena, 
your  brother  Antonio!"  At  these  words  she 
dropped  the  axe,  began  to  sob,  and  said  that  I  had 
killed  her  mother.  Our  mother,  however,  soon 
came  to  herself  and  pressed  me  to  her  heart,  calling 
me  her  "  dear  Tonio." 

I  was  now  so  overcome  by  the  scene  that  I  began 


HOME  AGAIN  247 

to  weep  like  a  child,  not  because  of  grief,  but 
rather  because  my  cup  of  joy  was  overflowing. 

My  father  was  not  at  home,  but  some  one  went 
and  told  him  that  I  had  arrived.  He  would  not 
believe  it,  and  said  that  I  would  not  dare  return. 
He  was  told  to  come  and  see. 

He  came  at  last,  and  the  first  sight  that  met  his 
gaze  as  he  entered  the  room  was  myself  and  mother 
holding  each  other  in  a  very  affectionate  embrace. 
He  looked  at  me  and  I  at  him,  but  before  long  I 
saw  the  tears  streaming  down  his  face.  That  was 
the  signal.  I  disengaged  myself,  ran  to  my  father, 
threw  my  arms  around  his  neck,  and  covered  his 
face  with  kisses. 

I  would  like  to  tell  how  my  other  relatives  re- 
ceived me,  and  w^ould  like  to  write  of  the  great 
change  that  came  over  my  parents,  who  were 
numbered  among  my  people  in  Florence,  and  they 
knelt  at  our  family  altar  converted  to  our  holy  faith, 
for  they  believed  the  Gospel. 

If  in  this  world  there  is  one  thing  man  cannot 
do,  it  is  to  destroy  a  mother's  affection  for  her 
child.  You  can  prevail  on  her  to  make  an  un- 
natural vow,  to  say  that  she  will  never  utter  the 
name  of  her  own  son,  but  it  is  one  matter  to  make 
such  a  vow  and  quite  another  to  erase  from  a 
mother's  heart  the  love  for  her  offspring. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  at  my  return,  among 
all  my  relatives  and  the  friends  of  my  father's 
family.     When  Gigi,  the  priest,  was  informed  that 


248  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

the  notaro's  son  had  returned  from  America,  that 
his  parents  had  received  him  with  great  rejoicing, 
and  that  the  man  he  had  so  profusely  sprinkled  with 
holy  water  at  the  inn  was  none  other  than  Tonio, 
the  heretic,  it  is  said  that  he  raved  like  a  mad  man, 
shut  himself  up  in  his  sagrcstia,  and  would  see  no 
one.  The  next  day  he  was  seen  walking  rapidly 
towards  the  questore's  (the  chief  of  police)  office. 
Those  who  met  him  say  that  there  was  on  his  face 
an  expression  as  of  a  black  cloud  ready  to  burst  into 
a  storm.  He  carried  a  bottle  of  acqua  vita,  or 
brandy,  a  beverage  of  which  he  knew  the  questore 
to  be  very  fond.  He  walked  so  rapidly  that  when 
he  got  into  the  presence  of  that  functionary  he  was 
out  of  breath,  and  without  a  "Good-morning!" 
broke  out: 

"  Signor  Questore,  are  you  aware  that  in  our 
town  to-day  there  is  a  criminal,  a  runaway  galeotto  ? 
He  escaped  from  the  Galera  at  Civita  Vecchia  some 
years  ago.  He  is  a  dangerous  character,  and  should 
not  be  allowed  to  go  at  large." 

"  And  what  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Signor  Cap- 
pellano  ?  "  asked  the  questore.  "  Do  you  wish  me 
to  arrest  the  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  priest,  "  that  is  the  reason  I 
called  on  you." 

Here  the  priest  handed  the  questore  the  bottle  of 
acqua  vita.  The  police  officer  took  a  good  drink  of 
it  and  said,  "  Well,  but  what  crime  has  the  young 
man   committed?     You   know   that   I   cannot   lay 


HOME  AGAIN  249 

hands  on  him  unless  some  offence  has  been  com- 
mitted against  the  law,  and  I  am  not  aware  that  our 
worthy  notaro's  son  has  done  anything  whereby  I 
have  the  right  to  arrest  him." 

''Done  nothing,  nothing  wrong?  Why,  he  is  a 
renegade  from  our  holy  religion,  and  a  rebel  against 
the  government  of  our  Holy  Father,  the  Pope,"  said 
the  priest  with  an  aggrieved  tone,  as  he  saw  that 
the  questore  was  slow  in  giving  command  for  the 
arrest  of  the  heretic. 

The  official  observed  this,  and  very  leisurely  took 
another  drink  of  the  acqua  vita,  and  then  said, 
"  Signor  Cappellano,  are  you  not  aware  that  we  have 
now  a  united  Italy,  and  that  we  are  no  longer  under 
the  Papal  government  ?  You  know  that  the  Inquisi- 
tion, thank  God,  has  been  abolished.  Do  you  want 
me  to  do  to  the  young  man  what  was  done  to 
Savonarola, — burn  him  at  the  stake?  I  know  that 
you  priests  would  shout  for  joy  if  that  thing  could 
be  done  to  heretics  to-day,  but  you  must  learn  the 
lesson  you  do  not  like,  that  in  Italy  we  have  re- 
ligious toleration,  and  every  man  is  free  to  hold 
and  express  his  religious  convictions." 

"  But,  Signor  Questore,  he  is  sowing  the  seeds 
of  discord  among  our  people,"  said  the  priest. 

"  You  have  the  right  to  sow  the  seeds  of  your 
religion,  you  can  invite  him  to  the  confessional,  and 
he  has  the  right  to  come  if  he  wishes  to.  I  think 
you  can  in  this  way  win  him  back  to  the  mother 
Church,  but  I  cannot  arrest  him.     It  is  my  duty 


250  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

to  do  justice  to  all,  to  Catholics  and  Protestants 
alike.  Would  you  have  me  do  a  great  wrong  to 
an  honourable  family?  Your  mother,  before  she 
died  two  years  ago,  used  to  be  a  great  friend  to 
both  the  notaro  and  his  wife.  Why  now  this  shame- 
ful spirit  of  vendetta  on  your  part?  What  wrong 
has  the  young  man  ever  done  you?  The  notaro 
and  his  son  called  on  me  yesterday,  for  they  wanted 
to  see  that  document  which  you  prevailed  on  them 
to  execute,  the  legal  disinheritance.  Your  name  is 
affixed  to  it  as  a  witness  to  the  transaction.  When 
the  notaro's  son  saw  your  name  he  paused  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  with  all  sincerity  said,  '  God  forgive 
Gigi  for  this  cruel  and  unchristian  act.  God  knows 
that  I  have  never  had  any  ill  feelings  towards  the 
priest.  It  was  very  unnatural  in  him  to  cause  par- 
ents to  despise  their  offspring,  to  fill  their  hearts 
with  evil  thoughts  toward  their  own  child,  and  make 
them  cast  him  out  of  their  home  and  their  affection. 
I  hope  it  was  not  malice  that  induced  Gigi  to  do 
this.  I  cannot  believe  that,  but  it  must  have  been 
zeal  for  his  Church ! '  I  said,  '  No,  it  was  malice 
as  deep  and  hot  as  the  Inferno.'  " 

At  this  point  the  questore  took  another  drink  of 
acqua  vita,  and  then  said,  "  I  was  born  a  Catholic 
and  I  hope  to  die  such,  but  really  I  see  a  better 
Christian  spirit  in  the  so-called  heretic  than  in  you 
priests  and  Jesuits.  Now,  Signor  Cappellano,  what 
do  you  think  of  your  old  friend  Tonio?"  This 
the  questore  said  very  sarcastically. 


HOME  AGAIN  251 

The  priest  answered  in  a  voice  that  plainly  in- 
dicated what  he  meant.  "  I  think  that  he  should 
be  imprisoned  and  then  driven  away,  never  again 
to  set  foot  in  this  quiet  town,  for  he  is  a  disturber 
of  the  peace." 

Here  followed  another  drink  of  acqua  vita,  and 
the  eyes  of  the  official  began  to  shine  somewhat 
unnaturally.  Then  the  questore  said  with  a  peculiar 
ring  in  his  voice  which  denoted  that  he  meant  what 
he  declared.  "  You  are  the  man  who  should  be 
imprisoned  and  driven  away  from  this  town,  for 
instead  of  going  into  the  homes  of  your  parishioners 
to  bring  peace  and  comfort  as  is  your  duty,  you 
went  into  the  home  of  our  worthy  notaro  to  sow 
the  seeds  of  discord,  and  through  your  Jesuitical  arts 
you  broke  up  the  peace  of  an  honourable  family. 
You  set  father  and  mother  against  their  own  son, 
who  was  by  them  greatly  beloved.  You  are  guilty 
of  disturbing  the  peace,  and  it  is  in  my  power  to 
punish  you.  You  may  thank  this  acqua  vita  if  I 
do  not  call  one  of  my  men,  and  put  you  where 
you  would  have  time  to  reflect  over  your  evil  ways." 
Again  another  drink. 

"  You  brought  me  this  brandy,"  said  the  questore, 
"  with  an  evil  intent.  I  accept  the  gift,  for  I  am 
very  fond  of  it,  but  I  spurn  the  motive.  Now  I  will 
drink  again  to  your  health,"  and  then  he  laid  back 
in  his  chair,  and  was  soon  soundly  sleeping. 

The  questore,  in  relating  to  me  the  above  incident, 
said  further,  "  I  have  since  surmised  that  as  the 


252  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

priest  saw  me  in  that  condition  he  must  have 
formulated  a  plan  for  revenge,  for  the  way  he 
acted  and  from  the  confusion  I  saw  on  his  face 
he  must  have  thought  of  something  unusual. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  almost  hear  him  say, 
*  Yes,  I  will  do  it,  and  then  I  shall  have  my  ven- 
detta. I  will  look  for  the  document  of  disinherit- 
ance while  the  questore  is  sleeping.  I  know  where 
it  is,  and  I  will  take  it  to  the  notaro's  house  to-night 
and  put  it  into  the  renegade's  valise,  for  I  know 
how  to  get  into  his  room.  Then  I  will  accuse  the 
heretic  of  theft.  I  will  do  it;  yes,  I  will!  That 
will  put  him  in  prison.' 

"  The  priest  then  arose  from  his  seat  and  must 
have  walked  carefully  to  a  pigeon-hole  in  my 
desk;  likely  he  did  not  notice  the  bottle  of  acqua 
vita  which  was  on  the  floor  near  the  desk.  The 
priest's  foot  knocked  the  bottle  down.  There  was 
a  crash,  and  the  brandy  ran  all  over  the  floor.  The 
noise  made  by  the  breaking  of  the  bottle  caused 
me  to  open  my  eyes.  I  gazed  at  the  broken  bottle. 
Then  I  looked  at  the  priest,  saw  how  confused  he 
was,  and  noticed  on  his  face  a  guilty  expression. 
It  occurred  to  me  that  the  bottle  had  been  broken 
out  of  revenge,  and  my  eyes  flashed  with  indigna- 
tion. I  glared  at  the  culprit  in  such  a  way  that  it 
caused  the  poor  man  to  tremble  from  head  to  foot. 
Then  I  cried  out,  with  all  the  passion  of  my  Italian 
nature,  and  said,  '  Prete  maledetto!  you  broke  the 
bottle  out  of  malice.     You  brought  me  the  acqua 


HOME  AGAIN  253 

vita  with  an  evil  purpose.  You  wanted  me  to  do 
a  great  wrong  to  a  respectable  person,  but,  as  you 
did  not  succeed,  you  thought  you  would  be  revenged 
on  me.' 

"  I  was  under  the  influence  of  the  brandy  and 
could  not  control  myself.  I  rose  from  my  seat,  and, 
like  a  mad  bull,  roared  out,  '  Prete  maledetto ! '  and 
taking  the  trembling  priest,  threw  him  bodily  out 
of  the  door. 

"  Poor  Gigi  was  obliged  to  walk  home  without 
his  hat,  for  he  did  not  dare  come  back  into  my  office 
for  it." 

Thus  ended  my  connection  with  Gigi,  the  priest. 
I  met  him  many  times  on  the  street,  but  he  would 
not  even  look  at  me.  Before  I  left  the  town,  I  had 
gained  many  warm  and  sincere  friends,  but  the 
best  one  outside  of  my  family  was  the  questore. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   CHURCH    IN   FLORENCE 

A  FTER  a  pleasant  stay  of  three  months  in  this 

j\     quaint  old  town  I  returned  to  Bologna.    My 

parents   were   loath  to  part  with   me,   but, 

knowing  that  I  was  only  going  to  America  to  bring 

my  family  to  Italy,  they  were  quite  resigned. 

In  Bologna  I  held  a  conversation  with  the  super- 
intendent of  the  Methodist  Mission,  and  agreed  with 
him  to  open  a  station  in  the  city  of  Florence,  and 
to  work  in  that  city  as  a  native  evangelist,  not  as 
one  sent  from  America.  I  took  my  family  there 
at  my  own  expense,  choosing  to  do  this  in  order 
that  I  might  be  free  to  leave  the  mission  whenever 
I  wished. 

When  we  arrived  in  Florence  my  first  duty  was 
to  provide  a  home  for  my  family,  which  I  had  no 
trouble  in  doing,  and  then  to  find  a  location  suitable 
for  a  chapel  which  I  could  throw  open  to  the  public. 
Although  Florence  has  been  regarded  as  the  most 
intelligent  and  liberal  of  all  Italian  cities,  yet  I  had 
hard  work  to  rent  a  house  for  the  purpose.  Finally 
I  had  to  go  outside  the  city  walls  to  secure  such  a 
place.    This  shows  that  even  among  some  who  re- 

254 


THE  CHURCH  IN  FLORENCE       255 

gard  themselves  as  highly  cultured,  superstition  and 
bigotry  are  to  be  found.  In  Piazza  Madonna  there 
was  a  large  store  to  be  let  which  was  just  what  I 
needed.  I  called  on  the  agent  and  said  that  I  should 
like  to  rent  the  store.  He  asked  what  kind  of 
business  I  intended  to  carry  on,  as  the  owner  must 
know  what  was  being  done  in  all  her  houses.  I 
stated  that  I  wished  to  open  a  mission,  and  preach 
the  Gospel.  "  Well,"  answered  the  agent,  "  I  have 
no  objection  myself,  but  you  will  have  to  go  to 
Madame  la  Marchesa.  If  she  is  willing,  come  back 
to  me  and  we  will  make  out  the  papers." 

The  family  to  which  Madame  la  Marchesa  be- 
longed was  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  respected  in 
Florence.  I  called  on  the  lady  at  once.  At  the 
entrance  of  her  palace  was  the  porter,  and  I  showed 
him  the  card  given  me  by  the  agent.  He  took  it 
without  delay  to  Madame  la  Marchesa. 

In  a  short  time  the  porter  came  back,  and  led  me 
into  the  reception  room,  where  the  lady  was  wait- 
ing. As  soon  as  I  came  into  her  presence,  she  said, 
"  My  agent  tells  me  that  you  desire  to  rent  my  store 
in  Piazza  Madonna,  and  that  you  will  state  to  me 
the  purpose  for  which  you  want  it."  I  said,  "  My 
purpose  is  of  the  best  kind,  for  it  is  that  only  of 
doing  good." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Marchesa,  "  please  tell  me  what 
you  mean  by  that." 

I  answered,  "  To  do  the  work  of  Christ,  to  preach 
His  blessed  Gospel." 


256  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

The  old  lady  looked  at  me  sharply,  and  said, 
"  You  are  not  a  priest,  nor  are  you  a  monk;  I  do 
not  understand  what  you  mean.     What  are  you?  " 

I  replied,  "  I  am  a  Protestant,  and  I  preach  Christ 
crucified." 

At  these  words  she  stood  up,  crossed  herself,  and 
cried  out  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  "Michele! 
Michele !  " 

The  porter  soon  made  his  appearance.  Then  she 
exclaimed,  "  Michele,  do  not  touch  that  man,  for 
he  is  a  Protestant;  but  put  him  out!  Maria  San- 
tissima,  have  mercy  on  us !  "  She  again  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  disappeared. 

Michele  then  said,  "  Please  leave  the  house,  and 
excuse  my  lady,  the  Marchesa.  She  is  devoted  to 
her  Church,  and  her  mind  does  not  act  rightly  on 
religious  matters.  I  feel  sorry  that  she  has 
treated  you  in  so  unladylike  a  way;  you  have  my 
sympathy." 

Some  weeks  later  I  had  occasion  to  pass  by  the 
same  house.  The  porter,  who  was  standing  near 
the  door,  saw  me,  and  spoke  to  me  very  politely. 
I  asked  him  about  the  Marchesa's  health.  He  an- 
swered, "  Quite  well,  sir.  She  was  thoroughly 
frightened  when  you  called  on  her,  and  after  you 
had  gone  she  sent  me  for  her  priest,  who  came  to 
the  house,  and  my  lady  told  him  that  on  that  very 
day  a  Protestant  had  called  upon  her,  and  wanted 
to  rent  the  store  in  the  Piazza  Madonna  and  there 
preach  the  religion  of  that   hated  sect.     *  Padre 


THE  CHURCH  IN  FLORENCE       257 

Donato,'  said  La  Marchesa,  '  he  was  in  this  very 
room,  and  sat  on  the  very  same  chair  in  which  you 
are  now.'  The  sentence  was  not  finished,  for  when 
the  priest  heard  these  words  he  jumped  up  from 
the  chair  as  if  he  had  been  shot,  '  madre  bene- 
detta! '  he  exclaimed,  *  evil  spirits  are  in  this  room. 
This  house  has  been  contaminated,  and  it  has  to  be 
purified.  Michele  [speaking  to  me],  go  to  the 
sacristy  of  San  Lorenzo  and  bring  me  the  holy 
water  and  the  asperges,  for  the  evil  spirits  must 
be  driven  out  of  this  house.'  I  brought  the  things 
ordered  to  Padre  Donato,  who  was  still  in  the  same 
room  but  seated  in  another  chair.  He  took  the 
holy  water  and  the  asperges,  and  began  to  say 
mysterious  words  over  the  chair  on  which  you  had 
been  sitting.  Then  he  made  the  sign  of  the  cross 
over  that  chair  many  times,  and  sprinkled  it  with 
holy  water  until  the  cushion  was  fairly  soaked. 
Then  he  sprinkled  water  over  the  floor  where  he 
thought  you  probably  stepped  as  you  came  in 
and  went  out;  and,  to  be  assured  that  all 
the  evil  spirits  were  driven  away,  he  sprinkled  the 
whole  room.  Then  he  asked  me  if  I  had  touched 
the  vile  heretic,  and  I  lied,  for  fear  I  might  have 
my  clothes  spoiled  with  the  holy  water,  for  it  was 
not  very  clean,  and  so  I  said,  '  No,'  and  went  into 
the  next  room.  While  there  I  heard  Padre  Donato 
say  to  Madame  la  Marchesa,  '  This  has  cost  me  a 
great  deal  of  trouble.  It  was  hard  work  to  drive 
those  evil  spirits  from  the  room,  but  I  have  sue- 


258  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

ceeded,  and  I  will  have  to  charge  you  one  hundred 
lire  for  the  job.'  " 

"Of  course,"  I  remarked,  "  she  paid  the  bill, 
although  she  ought  to  have  known  that  the  motive 
of  the  priest  was  not  that  of  purifying  the  room, 
for  he  no  more  believed  that  there  were  evil  spirits 
in  it  than  I  did;  but  he  saw  a  good  chance  to  make 
some  money." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  the  porter,  "  for  as  the 
priest  passed  by  me  he  was  all  smiles.  I  could  al- 
most imagine  him  saying,  '  God  bless  the  Protest- 
ants ! '  But  what  surprises  me  is  the  fact  that  Ma- 
dame la  Marchesa,  who  is  so  highly  cultured  and 
intelligent,  and  who  is  regarded  in  the  city  as  a 
great  business  woman,  could  let  herself  be — well — 
bamboozled.  I  am  an  ignorant  man,  and  cannot 
read  or  write,  but  no  priest  could  fool  me  so  easily 
as  that." 

"  Who  is  the  priest  ?  "  I  asked.  "  I  heard  you 
call  him  Padre  Donato,  but  where  is  his  church  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  is  the  cappellano  of  San  Marco  Vec- 
chio,  outside  the  gate  of  San  Gallo;  but  I  must  go," 
and,  as  he  offered  me  his  hand,  I  said  to  him,  "  Are 
you  not  afraid  to  shake  hands  with  me  ?  "  In  an- 
swer he  laughed  heartily. 

After  much  tribulation  I  secured  a  large  room 
that  had  been  used  as  a  cafe  in  Piazza  delle  Cure 
outside  of  Porta  San  Gallo.  It  had  a  seating  capac- 
ity for  two  hundred  people.  Two  large  doors 
opened  on  the  square,  and  a  small  one  on  Via 


THE  CHURCH  IN  FLORENCE       259 

Fiesolana.  The  door  which  oi>ened  on  the  square 
near  this  street  was  made  the  entrance  into  the 
room,  and  was  kept  open  during  the  service,  so 
that  those  who  did  not  care  to  stay  during  the  whole 
time  could  go  out  whenever  they  wished.  When 
prepared  and  ready  for  service,  it  made  a  pretty 
little  chapel.  The  pulpit  was  at  the  south  side  of 
the  room,  and  directly  faced  the  small  door  on  Via 
Fiesolana.  I  mention  this  door  because  it  plays  an 
important  part  in  our  story. 

My  first  public  service  was  held  Sunday  after- 
noon at  three  o'clock,  and  the  chapel  was  full,  many 
standing  at  the  entrance.  These  would  stay  for  a 
while  and  then  go  away,  but  soon  others  would  take 
their  place.  It  was  a  coming  and  going  crowd  of 
restless  people.  However,  those  inside  the  chapel 
remained  until  the  exercises  were  over.  Nothing 
unusual  happened  at  this  service. 

My  next  service  was  held  on  Tuesday  night  at 
half-past  seven,  and  again  a  large  number  came  into 
the  chapel;  but  I  noticed  that  the  temper  of  the 
people  was  not  favourable.  I  heard  some  one  say 
as  he  went  away,  "  These  heretics  have  come  to 
disturb  our  peace."  I  paid  no  attention  to  the 
words,  and  gave  notice  that  there  would  be  another 
service  on  Friday  night  at  the  same  hour. 

Friday  came,  the  weather  was  rainy,  and  I 
thought  there  would  be  but  few  present.  As  I  en- 
tered the  chapel  I  was  surprised  to  see  it  full,  mostly 
of  young  people.     There  was  not  a  single  woman 


26o  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

present,  but  I  supposed  it  must  be  on  account  of 
the  weather.  As  I  took  my  place  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  noise  among  the  young  men.  I  spoke  to 
them  and  asked  them  to  have  respect  for  the  house 
of  God.  They  laughed  at  me.  Then  I  said  kindly, 
"  If  you  do  not  respect  the  house  of  God,  please 
leave  it."  No  sooner  had  I  said  these  words  than 
the  whole  congregation  rose  and  marched  out  of 
the  chapel.  As  they  went  out  I  noticed  a  young 
man  standing  by  the  open  door  and  holding  the 
knob  in  his  hand.  When  all  the  people  had  gone 
he  drew  the  door  to  and  closed  it,  and  I  was  left 
alone.  The  crowd  outside  began  to  shout,  "  Down 
with  the  heretic,  kill  him,  drive  the  Protestant  out 
of  Florence!    Long  live  the  Pope!  " 

I  soon  realized  that  it  was  a  mob  sent  there  to 
do  me  harm,  or  to  take  my  life.  They  howled 
and  shouted,  "  Down  with  the  heretic !  "  and  acted 
like  rabid  wolves.  Soon  the  crowd  went  round  to 
the  narrow  street.  Via  Fiesolana.  It  was  quite 
dark  there,  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  tell 
one  man  from  another  in  the  gloom.  The  mob 
began  to  pound  on  the  door  with  clubs  and  stones, 
and  I  surmised  that  it  was  the  intention  to  batter 
it  down,  and  then  in  the  darkness  to  stone  the 
heretic,  or  shoot  him.  I  concluded  that  it  was  their 
purpose  to  take  my  life.  There  was  no  way  of 
escape.  I  did  not  care  to  go  out,  for  then  I  should 
throw  myself  into  the  hands  of  the  mob.  My  situa- 
tion was  critical,  and  I  thought  of  my  dear  wife 


THE  CHURCH  IN  FLORENCE       261 

and  my  three  children.  What  will  become  of  them  ? 
Must  I  be  taken  away  just  as  I  have  entered  this 
work  which  has  been  the  dream  of  my  life?  Must 
I  be  murdered  by  this  mob?  ''  O  God,  protect  my 
family,  and,  if  it  be  Thy  will,  save  me!  " 

As  I  thought  of  these  things,  the  Bible  lay  open 
upon  the  little  pulpit  and  involuntarily  I  cast  my 
eyes  upon  it,  and  saw  the  following  blessed  words, 
"  Be  of  good  cheer,  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid!  "  I  be- 
came somewhat  resigned  to  my  fate. 

The  mob  had  already  broken  the  upper  panels 
of  the  door,  and  would  soon  have  battered  it  down. 
Just  then  the  door  which  was  used  as  the  entrance 
was  opened,  and  two  young  men  walked  in.  They 
came  towards  me,  and  I  noticed  that  they  had  long 
stilettos.  I  could  see  the  blades  glittering  in  the 
lamplight.  I  felt  that  the  end  had  come.  Oh!  if  I 
could  only  see  my  family  once  more,  I  could  die 
happy.  In  expectation  I  was  suffering  the  agony  of 
death,  and  must  have  been  very  pale.  When  the 
young  men  came  to  me  and  saw  how  pale  I  was, 
they  said,  "  Do  not  be  afraid,  we  are  your  friends. 
We  have  come  to  save  you,  if  it  is  possible.  We 
have  been  among  the  crowd  and  have  heard  that 
they  want  to  take  your  life,  because  you  are  a 
Protestant;  but  we  felt  how  unjust  and  cowardly  it 
would  be  to  take  the  life  of  a  human  being  because 
he  does  not  believe  as  we  do.  Don't  be  alarmed; 
we  will  walk  over  the  dead  body  of  any  one  who 
tries  to  lay  a  hand  on  you." 


262  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

I  had  never  seen  these  young  men,  but  I  felt 
that  they  were  my  friends,  and  told  them  that  I 
was  ready  to  trust  myself  to  their  hands.  They 
placed  me  between  them,  one  on  the  right  hand 
and  the  other  on  the  left,  holding  their  stilettos 
ready  to  do  sharp  work  if  necessary.  Whether  it 
was  because  the  mob  was  intent  on  seeing  the  door 
fall,  or  whether  God  blinded  their  eyes,  I  cannot 
say,  but  we  crossed  the  square  without  being  seen. 
A  few  steps  away  was  the  custom  house  of  Porta 
San  Gallo,  since  at  each  gate  of  every  walled 
Italian  city  is  the  dogana  where  city  duties  are 
collected  on  all  articles  subject  to  them.  I  was 
taken  into  the  office  there.  Armed  soldiers  were 
on  duty  as  collectors.  They  had  heard  and  seen 
the  mob,  yet,  I  was  told,  under  no  circumstances 
were  they  allowed  to  leave  their  post,  "  but  here 
no  one  will  dare  touch  you."  The  two  young  men 
went  away  and  notified  the  commissioner  of  public 
safety.  A  company  of  soldiers  was  sent  at  once, 
but  when  they  arrived  the  mob  had  dispersed.  How- 
ever, they  did  not  go  before  they  had  battered  the 
little  door  down  and  entered  the  chapel,  breaking 
chairs  and  lamps,  and  cutting  to  pieces  many  of  the 
Bibles  and  hymn-books.  Much  damage  was  done 
by  them. 

Next  morning,  three  young  men,  the  leaders  of 
the  mob,  were  arrested,  and,  when  they  were 
brought  before  the  judge,  I  was  called  upon  to 
identify  them.     I  picked  out  the  one  who  held  the 


THE  CHURCH  IN  FLORENCE       263 

knob  of  the  door  when  the  people  left  the  chapel, 
and  told  the  judge  what  he  did.  After  some  ques- 
tioning the  young  men  made  the  following  con- 
fession. 

"  We  had  been  called  to  his  residence  by  Padre 
Donato,  the  parish  priest  of  San  Marco  Vecchio.  He 
gave  us  cakes  to  eat  and  wine  to  drink,  and  then 
said  to  us,  '  In  Piazza  delle  Cure  a  Protestant  mis- 
sion has  been  opened  for  the  purpose  of  spreading 
heretical  doctrines,  thus  leading  our  people  to  hell. 
Now,  young  men,  I  want  you  to  go  there  to-night 
and  drive  the  heretic  out  of  Florence,  by  breaking 
up  his  meeting.  If  you  do  not  succeed  in  this,  break 
his  neck.'  " 

The  judge  held  the  young  men  for  trial.  When 
the  case  came  up,  the  priest,  as  well  as  myself,  had 
to  appear  before  the  judge.  Before  the  trial  com- 
menced, I  had  a  good  look  at  this  priest  who  made 
Madame  la  Marchesa  believe  that  I  had  brought 
evil  spirits  into  her  house,  and  prevailed  on  her  to 
have  the  room  where  I  had  been  seated  blessed  and 
sprinkled  with  holy  water,  for  which  performance 
he  charged  her  one  hundred  lire,  or  twenty  dollars. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  it  was  his  scheme,  in  sending 
the  young  men  to  drive  me  out  of  Florence,  to  make 
some  more  money  in  the  same  way.  He  might 
easily  have  persuaded  the  owner  that  he  could  not 
let  the  building  again  because  it  had  been  contam- 
inated by  my  occupancy,  and  hence  it  must  be  puri- 
fied and  blessed. 


264  IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 

As  Padre  Donato  stood  before  the  judge  I  had  a 
fine  view  of  him.  His  expression  was  hostile  and 
avaricious.  He  would  have  made  a  Shylock  with- 
out the  makeup.  He  was  a  thin,  dried-up  old  man. 
His  eyes  were  grey,  and  he  kept  them  half  closed. 
His  mouth  was  broad  and  his  chin  was  of  the 
fashion  of  Punch  and  Judy.  It  was  turned  up  a 
little,  and  looked  as  if  it  had  been  put  there  to  catch 
the  crumbs  that  might  fall  from  his  mouth  when  he 
ate  his  bread.  His  nose  was  thin  and  sharp,  and 
the  end  turned  in  like  a  hook.  A  lawyer  accompan- 
ied him,  and  tried  to  defend  him,  but  made  a  failure. 

The  lawyer  asserted  before  the  judge,  *'  Padre 
Donato  is  a  faithful  priest  He  was  not  moved  by 
malice  or  premeditation,  but  was  transported  by  zeal 
for  his  Church.  I  trust  that  the  court  will  take 
that  into  consideration." 

The  judge  said,  "  The  duty  of  this  court  is  to 
find  out  whether  or  not  the  law  has  been  broken. 
The  law  on  religious  toleration  protects  Protestants 
and  Catholics  alike.  A  mob  was  incited  against  a 
man  while  in  the  discharge  of  his  religious  duties, 
and  his  life  was  threatened  by  that  mob  sent  there 
by  the  priest.  A  crime  has  been  committed,  and 
the  guilty  must  be  punished." 

Then  I  was  called  before  the  judge  and  asked  if 
I  had  anything  to  say.  "  Your  Honour,  I  deplore 
the  act,"  I  said,  "  but  I  beg  this  honourable  court 
to  pass  no  sentence  upon  these  young  men,  for  they 
have   been   sinned   against   more   than   they   have 


THE  CHURCH  IN  FLORENCE       265 

sinned.  All  I  desire  is  that  the  reverend  priest 
pay  the  damage  done  by  the  mob  to  the  chapel," 
and  then  the  judge  discharged  the  prisoners.  He 
appointed  one  of  the  court  officers  to  investigate  the 
injury  done  to  the  chapel,  and  sentenced  the  priest 
to  pay  whatever  the  damage  might  be. 

The  only  daily  paper  in  Florence  at  that  time, 
La  Nazione,  gave  a  report  of  the  affair  and  of  the 
trial,  which  afforded  me  a  splendid  advertisement. 
When  I  reopened  the  chapel  half  of  the  throng 
who  tried  to  enter  could  not  get  in.  With  the 
priest's  money  I  v/as  able  to  have  more  chairs,  more 
Bibles  and  more  hymn-books,  and  I  had  the  chapel 
handsomely  decorated.  Thus  the  evil  that  the  enemy 
intended  proved  the  greatest  benefit  that  could  have 
befallen  the  work. 

The  two  young  men  who  saved  my  life  became 
faithful  members  of  my  church,  and  I  had  the 
privilege  of  marrying  one  of  them,  and  of  baptizing 
his  firstborn.  I  stayed  in  that  place  two  years,  and 
when  it  became  too  small  to  accommodate  those 
who  attended,  I  found  a  commodious  hall  at  the 
junction  of  Via  del  Giglio  and  Melarance,  where  I 
laboured  until  our  return  to  America. 

The  Free  Italian  Church,  founded  by  Gavazzi,  to 
which  I  then  belonged,  sent  me  to  the  United  States 
as  a  delegate  to  the  Pan-Presbyterian  Council, 
which  met  in  Philadelphia  in  1880.  While  there, 
a  committee  of  the  New  York  City  Mission  and 
Tract  Society,  composed  of  the  lamented  Morris 


266 


IN  ITALY  AND  AMERICA 


K.  Jesup,  Roswell  Smith  and  Mr.  Jackson,  called 
on  me  and  asked  if  I  would  take  up  the  work  of 
evangelizing  the  Italians  in  this  great  city.  I  gladly- 
accepted  the  call,  and  established  a  preaching  service 
in  the  beautiful  chapel  of  the  Five  Points  House  of 
Industry,  preaching  my  first  sermon  there  on  the 
2ist  of  June,  1881. 

In  this  place  I  laboured  fourteen  years.  On  ac- 
count of  its  unsafe  condition  the  chapel  was  taken 
down  to  make  room  for  a  more  secure  building,  and 
in  the  meantime  our  congregation  moved  into  the 
Broome  Street  Tabernacle,  where  we  have  been 
carrying  on  the  work  ever  since.  The  whole  build- 
ing is  devoted  to  the  Italian  work.  It  would  add 
interest  to  this  little  volume  if  an  account  could  be 
given  of  the  success  of  this  Italian  enterprise,  of 
the  tens  of  thousands  who  have  heard  the  glad  news 
of  free  salvation  for  the  first  time  in  this  Italian 
church;  of  the  thousands  who  have  here  found  the 
Saviour  precious  to  their  souls;  of  the  many  thou- 
sands of  children  who  have  been  gathered  into  the 
Sunday-school.  Only  on  the  day  when  God  shall 
make  up  His  jewels  will  it  be  known  how  much  good 
has  been  accomplished  by  the  Italian  Evangelical 
Church  of  New  York  City,  which  is  the  mother  of 
all  missions  for  Italians  in  the  United  States  of 
America.  To  Him  who  has  given  us  the  victory 
be  the  glory  and  the  honour,  world  without  end. 
Amen. 


PRINTED   IN  THE   UNITED   STATES  OF  AMERICA 


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